Christian Grey Vs Pepper Potts
by Imarra Pendaran
Summary: Pepper unwittingly attracts the attention of Christian Grey during a business meeting and quickly finds herself with more than she bargained for. Uncertain about how to deal with his interest, she enlists the help of Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton to help her resolve the increasing tension of the situation rather than involving Tony.
1. Christian Grey Vs Pepper Potts

**Author's Note: Clearly, I don't own either of these copyrights. This is all just a bit of fun when I wondered how things would have gone down if Christian Grey had pulled his shenanigans on an independent woman. Take it for what it is. I would certainly appreciate any thoughts or critiques you'd like to share.**

* * *

**Christian Grey Vs. Pepper Potts**

**Chapter 1**

"Mister Grey, your one fifteen has arrived."

The dazzling, magnanimous, scintillating, utterly devilishly dashing-with-a-side-of-carnal-bliss business mogul glanced up from his perusal of the morning's paper, one steamy glance afforded Blonde Office Worker Number 29 before glancing to his watch. The time was precisely fifteen minutes past one in the afternoon on the twenty-third of October. A check of his calendar assured him he was meeting with a Miss Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, who was presently in Seattle giving a lecture during a conference on clean energy.

"Yes, Miss Lovelorn. You may show her in now," he finally responded.

Tension knotted his lower belly when, upon hearing the muffled request by his secretary for Miss Potts to join him, the door opened to admit her. His expression was aloof, disdainful even, when the attractive blonde stepped inside and promptly lost her balance, tumbling to the side and pitching headlong onto his expensive Asian rug made of hundreds of thousands of small strands of red and black and gold and black and red threads, crimson patterns swirling inside the charcoal border and intermingling with dazzling displays of gold thread. The tiniest of smiles twitched the severe line of his lips. Interest immediately piqued, he experienced that familiar swelling in his groin just seeing her on her hands and knees on his office floor after being privy to such a display of uncoordinated clumsiness. At that moment, he decided Pepper Potts would be his; the same way Anastasia Rose Steele had been his from the moment she'd spilled through his door.

"Two left feet, eh?" he drawled in his silky dark-chocolate-and-raspberry-and-key-lime-pie-and-mousse voice.

"No," Miss Potts returned while picking herself up from the floor. "I believe that can be passed off as a wardrobe malfunction." The woman tugged her fitted skirt back into place and retrieved the peaches-and-cream pump that had dislodged from her foot during her fall.

"What a naïve and endearing excuse, my dear. There is no shame in admitting your normal grace deserted you in the face of my dazzling charm and suave cool."

Miss Potts' expression wavered slightly, a coy glance thrown toward the door followed by a brief touch to the hem of her dark jacket as though itching to remove it, and Christian felt tension pulling his groin tighter in the face of her uncertainty and nervousness. She was a like a doe sighted in the crosshairs of a hunter's rifle, all innocence and quivering anxiety. His mouth watered at the possibilities of taking this beauty under his wing and bending her to his will.

"Actually, my clumsiness is a result of a broken high heel, Mister Grey." She pulled the separated heel the rest of the way off the body of her shoe to demonstrate, no doubt for his approval and obviously seeking his reassurance that her supposedly uncharacteristic clumsiness didn't diminish her desirability.

"Indeed. You are permitted, Miss Potts, to be so overwhelmed as to experience a moment of clumsiness. There is nothing shameful in having been dazzled off your feet."

"No, broken heel," she insisted again, but he saw right through her excuse.

"I give you permission to…"

"Look, Mister Grey, there's a jet waiting for me at the airport…"

He interrupted by saying, "A jet? How quaint. I pilot my own helicopter." His chest puffed slightly as he postured in an effort to make himself look more enticing.

"Right," she said, "and the man I'm dating pilots a technologically advanced suit of armor. My point is that my time is limited, and I would prefer to determine whether or not Stark Industries can help with your energy needs rather than dwelling on a wardrobe malfunction."

She was seeing someone. The information pulsed through his mind, causing his eyes to widen, his heartbeat to quicken, and his breathing to become strained. The instinct was there to immediately order her to break off all communication with her former lover, but such things had to be done delicately lest his fly escape the spider's web.

"Yes, we should concentrate on business for now."

* * *

Pepper paused to read a notation at the bottom of the form before scrawling her signature on the dotted line so construction could begin on the next phase of Stark Industries' self-sustaining arc reactors. Said form was passed along to her assistant, a very capable and eager young woman by the name of Stephanie Ward.

"Don't forget to have Legal arrange a notary for tomorrow afternoon's meeting, and reschedule my lunch meeting with Berry Benson for the fourteenth of December."

"Legal has already been notified, and someone will be awaiting our arrival." Stephanie collected a stack of heavy volumes from the desk and padded across the room to replace them on an imposing bookshelf. She paused there next to the newly replaced bank of windows to admire the New York City skyline. Repairs caused by Loki's attempted domination of Earth were still ongoing nearly six months after the event.

"Did you lose any family during the attack, Stephanie?" she thought to ask upon noting a moment of sadness in her assistant's expression.

Tension snapped tight inside the office.

"My twin brother was killed when his office building was leveled by one of those massive flying whales," whispered Stephanie.

Genuine empathy was in Pepper's tone when she responded, "I'm sorry to hear it."

"Who is that creeper? He's been standing on the sidewalk for the past hour just staring at the building. I know Stark Tower is a stunning feat of engineering, but it's not that interesting." A definite shift in tone marked Stephanie's attempt to change the subject.

Because her assistant appeared so reluctant to discuss her loss, Pepper allowed the conversation to drop instead of pressing for information. They were colleagues, not BFFs intent upon sharing their deepest, darkest secrets.

She joined Stephanie at the window, brow knitting as she tried to make out enough detail to determine the creeper's identity despite the distance and awkward angle. "Oh my God, is that Christian Grey?"

"Your one fifteen in Seattle the day before yesterday? The CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc?"

"Doesn't have the same concise ring as Stark Industries, does it."

"Wait, I thought it was Stark Enterprises."

"What would make you think that?"

"Mister Stark when he did my initial face to face interview."

Pepper opened her mouth to respond, rethought her comment, and then closed her mouth again as though attempting to remember fine details about Stephanie's interviews. Replacing Natalie, who had turned out to be none other than Black Widow, had been a rushed affair. "I thought human resources handled your first face to face."

"No, Mister Stark stepped into the office and relieved the lady from human resources."

"Someone will be having a conversation about that when I get home tonight." Tony didn't normally meddle in her personal business, so she was curious as to why he'd involve himself in the search for her assistant.

"I'm sorry if I've spoken out of turn."

"No, you're fine. At any rate, Mister Stark has changed the company name several times, so his ability to process what the current official name is changes depending on how focused he is on other tasks. We are officially Stark Industries now."

Back to the matter at hand. Why was Christian Grey camped out on the corner staring up at Stark Tower? As long as he was creeping on the sidewalk rather than inside her very office, she would ignore his presence, but something about him gave her the heebie jeebies. Surprisingly, it wasn't because he was so full of himself. She lived with and dated the most narcissistic man on the planet. Being full of oneself wasn't a co-requisite with sleaze.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The soft glow of the arc reactor bathed her face, contorted with ecstasy, in pale light as she came with a breathy sigh of relief, fingers loosening their grip on Tony's ass when he joined her in post-coital bliss moments later. Heart still beating rapidly and overwhelmed with giddy delight, she giggled and pressed her face against his shoulder.

"Giggling? Must have been one Hell of an orgasm. What am I saying? It's my disco stick you just jived all over. Of course it was one Hell of an orgasm."

She paused for half a heartbeat. "I was having twelve percent of an orgasm."

His expression flattened. "I'm never going to live that down."

"No."

"If that was only twelve percent of an orgasm, pigs must envy you."

A quick burst of air punched out of her lungs, and she shoved at Tony to get him off her. "Don't you know it's rude to mention pigs in the same context as your naked girlfriend following sex? You don't hear me talking about chickens in the same context as your pasty legs, do you?"

"What are you talking about, Woman? You love my legs."

"I love your legs," she confirmed, "because they're attached to your hips, which are attached to your torso, which is attached to your neck, which is attached to your head." By the time she made it to his lips, she was brushing hers against his.

"Damn my refractory period," he muttered against her mouth. "I bet Captain Calisthenics doesn't have to worry about pesky things like whether or not his di…"

With a laugh, Pepper cut him off. "Are you really going to be envious of Captain Rogers now? Personally, I have no interest in finding out whose refractory period is shorter. That would require me caring about his sexuality."

"This is not jealousy. Captain Calisthenics has nothing I should be envious of."

"You're right." Unfortunately, she had a feeling he wasn't pointing out how little he envied Captain Rogers because he believed what he was saying. Trying to hash it out with him would be pointless. Tony was one of those men who needed to figure things out on his own, so she could reassure him until she was blue in the face without him fully grasping the concept.

Tony gave her a last, lingering kiss before rolling out of bed and padding into the bathroom to take care of personal needs. "How did the conference in Seattle go?" His voice drifted through the open bathroom door.

"Everything went smoothly. Since I was already there, I held a brief meeting with the CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc, who's interested in a reactor for several of his production companies. What's the deal with you interrupting Stephanie's first face to face?"

"I had to make sure she'd be a good fit for you. Human resources can get it wrong more commonly than they get it right." Moments later, Tony padded back into the bedroom with a toothbrush in hand.

"Because you know how much I love it when you take control like that." Her tone existed in the borderland between amused and annoyed. "You just wanted to be certain my assistant wasn't an attractive man."

"It wouldn't be the first time a CEO of Stark International…"

"Industries," she corrected.

"…fell for an attractive assistant. Precedence, Miss Potts."

"It never occurred to you I might find Stephanie attractive?"

A tiny smirk played at his lips as his eyes unfocused and gazed off into what Pepper assumed was some fantasy land in which Stephanie and she sandwiched him in carnal bliss. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Laughing, she grabbed the pillow, encased in a pewter-colored pillowcase, and hurled it across the room at him. "If I do find Stephanie attractive, and she's pleasantly inclined toward the idea of hanky panky in the board room, I certainly won't be inviting you."

"You don't play fair, Miss Potts."

"Life isn't fair, Mister Stark. If you win more than you lose, you're ahead of the learning curve, so be grateful for what you have."

His expression turned serious, and he paused before continuing. "I am. Grateful, that is. You know, for this." He gestured in her vague direction and then back in his. "For us." And because Tony Stark couldn't be comfortable with the normal emotional spectrum, he stuffed his toothbrush in his mouth and began furiously scrubbing his pearly whites.

"I'm grateful too."

Doing a complete one-eighty in terms of conversation was a particular talent of his, so he mumbled something around the toothbrush and paste in his mouth.

Because she'd spent so long with him, she knew he was asking about Grey, so she shrugged, rolling onto her side and tucking her hand beneath her cheek to prop herself up. "He's pushy and thinks entirely too much of himself. Actually, he's here in New York now, so you may have a chance to meet him."

Their conversation didn't resume until after Tony had emptied his mouth and returned wearing pajama bottoms and his most comfortable Black Sabbath t-shirt, at which point, he said "Do you think the contract will be good for Stark?"

"The fundamentals of the companies under the umbrella of Grey Enterprises look good on the surface, but when you dig beneath, you can see mismanagement beginning to affect his empire The man purchased a floundering publishing company recently for no better reason than because his then-girlfriend worked there. These aren't the actions of a man interested in building a solid base for his corporation."

A rather odd grin curved Tony's lips. "Can I purchase the company where you work… Oh wait, I already own the controlling interest."

Pepper laughed. "At any rate, I'm not entirely certain I want Stark's name tied with a company that may teeter on the edge of going under in the future because of mismanagement."

"That's the most beautiful sight I've seen in a long time," he murmured in another abrupt change of subject. There was something soft about his smile while looking at her.

Somehow, the compliment made her equal parts delighted and awkward, and she ended up rolling onto her back to give him a better view. A teasing smile accompanied her hand gliding down the soft plane of her belly in the direction of her feminine flesh. One of Tony's kinks seemed to be enjoying watching her masturbate.

"Who needs sleep when they have that waiting for them in bed?" asked Tony, his eyes riveted on the progress of her fingertips.

"Sir, a private currier is attempting to make a delivery to Miss Potts in the lobby," Jarvis suddenly interrupted in his cultured British accent.

"Bad timing, Jarvis," Tony muttered. "Were you expecting something important? I don't suppose we can let Security accept delivery and get to it in the morning?"

The disappointment in his expression and dread coating his tone of voice almost made her chuckle, but she flung her legs over the side of the bed anyway. "Sorry. I am expecting some important documents to be delivered tonight. They have to be checked and signed for my meeting in the morning."

"I knew I was going to regret making you CEO of my company."

"Technically, isn't it my company now?"

"Nope. Controlling interest, remember?"

"Clearly, I'm going to have to talk you into strip poker one night," she quipped, humor animating her expression.

"Good idea. Come back in a hurry, Miss Potts."

"Twelve percent of a hurry?"

Dressing while tossing jabs back and forth with her boyfriend was difficult, but she managed the feat and hopped an elevator down to the ground floor where a private currier was waiting for her to sign for the package being delivered. There was no way the package contained the documents she'd been waiting for: It was too large, so she waited until returning to the penthouse apartment she shared with Tony while they were in New York to open it.

A card tucked beneath the pretty bow read "Why didn't you tell me there was danger? Why didn't you warn me? Ladies know what to guard against, because they read novels that tell them of these tricks." It was signed simply with "G." The package contained first editions of Tess of the D'ubervilles.

Who would send her such an odd gift? Why would they highlight that particular quote? Tess, in a great deal of distress, had pleaded with her mother, demanding to know why she hadn't been warned about the dangers of men and their manipulation. There was a message attempting to be sent her way by selecting those particular passages by whomever "G" represented.

One name sharpened into pristine clarity.

"You're into buying rare books in poor to fair condition these days?" Tony asked while trotting down out of the raised kitchen with a glass of juice for her.

"No," she responded. "I think Christian Grey is sending me expensive presents."

* * *

Sending thank you gifts to a businesswoman who'd taken time out of her busy schedule to meet personally wasn't totally unheard of, but she thought there was a different cause prompting Christian Grey's gift. While the books weren't exorbitantly expensive, they were valuable enough to be inappropriate under the given circumstance.

The delivery compounded with him standing on the street corner yesterday afternoon were enough to make her Spidey sense tingle: Peter Parker and Mary Jane had dined with them last week, so "Spidey Senses" was her new favorite term. No more than fifteen seconds had been required for her to decide to have them shipped back post-haste. A sticky note affixed to the box left instructions for Stephanie to have it returned to sender via a private currier when she dropped it off on her assistant's desk, and then she stepped into her office to begin the long day of meetings she had planned with zoning officers.

A sharp gasp whistled into her lungs, heart jumping into her throat and pulse suddenly racing when she found none other than Christian Grey sitting in _her_ chair behind _her_ desk in _her_ office. Clearly, the man hadn't seen the giant Stark sign on the side of the building. No, no Tony had never ordered the sign replaced, so there was simply a giant A remaining from the Chitauri attack. He hoped to talk the other members of the Avengers into moving in, hence the A coming to represent Avengers Tower.

"Hello, Miss Potts. I trust you're enjoying my gift," he commented darkly in that dark-chocolate-and-raspberry-and-mousse-and-key-lime-pie-and-caramel voice.

"What are you doing in here?" Her tone was breathless from the startle she'd received.

"I came to discuss our contract of course. There are some papers I'll need you to look over and understand before signing."

"We don't have a meeting on the books, Mister Grey. I need you to leave and contact me through official channels rather than breaking into my office."

"Official channels, Virginia? Must we be constrained by official channels? I was in the neighborhood and decided this would be quicker than having my secretary contact your secretary…"

"Personal assistant," she corrected.

"….to schedule a meeting." Christian rolled gracefully to his feet and stalked in her direction with a manila envelope in hand.

"Don't call me 'Virginia,'" she requested. Only her grandmother had called her that, and thinking about her grandmother was still bittersweet. "Fine. I'll look at your papers if you'll promise never to sneak into my office again."

The man seemed taken aback momentarily, lips hardening and expression pinching tighter as though trying to figure something out before extending the envelope toward her. "Look the contract over, and email me when you've decided to sign."

"If I've decided to sign," she corrected again. And that was a very big "if." Those heebie jeebies Grey gave her were turning into a full blown case of "Oh Hell Fuck No!"

The tension in the air suddenly popped like a bursting bubble when her cell phone chimed and caused Pepper to flinch. A quick breath and she dug her phone out of her bag to see Tony's name flashing across the screen. "Hi, Tony. Can't bear to be separated from me for longer than half an hour before you start buzzing me?" She turned away from Christian.

"Jarvis said you have an unexpected visitor. Do you need the suit?"

"Honey, I adore Jarvis, but he's not allowed to spy on me twenty-four seven."

"What's wrong?" Tony sounded serious now.

"Why would you think something's wrong?"

"Maybe because it required a douche bag standing in your office before you'd call me a pet name? I'll be down in ten."

"That's not necessary. I can handle things on my own." Which was the truth. She didn't need Tony Stark to play white knight and counteract Christian Grey's dark knight. No, that was a bad comparison. Christian Grey wasn't any kind of knight. He was a creeper.

Ending the call, she turned back to face the man, taking note of the thin line of his lips and the deepness of the grooves framing his eyes. The man was furious. There was no way to mistake the emotion rolling off him as anything else.

"Honey? Who were you talking to, Virginia Pepper Potts?"

"Um… How about none of your business? And I'm not going to ask you again to stop calling me 'Virginia.' You may refer to me as Miss Potts."

"You will tell me who was on the other end of the phone, or I will hack your phone's database and find out for myself. I don't like you talking to other men. It will stop now."

"Okay then. Mister Grey, I'd like you to leave my office now and forget you ever spoke to me. Stark Industries doesn't find Grey Holdings Enterprises-your company name sucks and causes the tongue to trip over it, by the way-a good fit for our line of self-sustaining reactors. Please leave."

Christian's nostrils flared, his head tilting back as though looking down the length of his nose at her. Visually, his proverbial ruffled feathers began smoothing. "Very well. I can see you need some space to think more clearly about how our relationship will proceed. Look over the contract. When you're ready to sign, do let me know."

"You'll be waiting an awfully long time. Good day, Mister Grey."

Thankfully, the man left without further incident, and all it took was a call down to the security desk to instruct their lead security officer, a Mister Richard Kensey, not to allow Christian past the security desk any longer, and she was secure in the knowledge her brief episode with Creepy McCreeper wouldn't be repeated.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read my little bit of fluff. More to come soon. In the next chapter, Tony decides Mister Grey is a douche-nozzle, and Pepper winds up in a disturbing email conversation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Submissive shall make herself available for the Dominant's pleasure for a period of three months and shall endeavor to enjoy and understand his training and discipline in whatever method he chooses to render his tutelage," Pepper read aloud from the contract.

Tony stopped so suddenly while pacing across their lounge, she wouldn't have been surprised had she heard the Roadrunner-screeching-to-a-halt sound effect from Loony Tunes. "Run that by me one more time."

She repeated the passage as calmly as possible.

"What the Hell kind of contract did that douche-nozzle walk up into my house to give you?" he demanded, his expression hard and angry.

"It's labeled Terms and Conditions Governing Submissive and Dominant Relationship."

"Wait, what?" Which prompted Tony to cross the distance between them and look at the contract over her shoulder. "He gave you a BDSM contract? Christian Grey, CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Handfisted Hippo-Humping Incorporated Limited, broke into _my_ tower and gave _my_ girlfriend a sex contract?"

"Listen to this. 'Submissive shall agree to weekly gynecological exams to be administered by a gynecologist of Dominant's choosing. Furthermore, Submissive shall accept the recommendation of Dominant as to the form, brand name, and administration type of birth control during the duration of this contract.'"

"I've got a form of birth control I'd like to give him."

"Tony, you're not using my stilettos as a scrotum skewer again."

That actually got a bit of a laugh out of him. "I wasn't thinking of that at all."

"Electric cattle prod?"

"Clearly, Fury has his priorities wrong if I'm the security risk he's presently worried about," he said with a smirk.

"I've already instructed Mister Kensey to restrict Grey's access to the tower. He won't be repeating this morning's fiasco, and even if he somehow did find a way to get past security, I'm quite capable of administering your idea of birth control myself. You don't become the Olympic gold medalist of running in heels without knowing how to use them."

"Because my girl is Superwoman."

"And doesn't have Damsel-in-Distress printed across her forehead." She reached across the table to retrieve her cell phone when a chime indicated an email being delivered to her inbox.

Tony cupped her chin to kiss her before rolling to his feet. "I wonder if that Italian joint Captain Calisthenics was raving about delivers. What am I saying? I'm Tony Stark. They'll make an exception. How do you feel about Italian tonight?"

"We could try that thing where we turn on the stove and add ingredients to a pot," she responded while opening an email from fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com.

"At what point did you contract amnesia and forget the omelet incident?"

Pepper was too caught up in reading the contents of the email to respond.

_"My dearest Virginia, allow me to offer my sincerest apologies for_

_ whatever I've done to offend you. You asked for space when_

_ ordering me from your office this morning, and yet, I cannot _

_ agree to this separation between us. Such is my desire for you._

_ Meet with me tonight. I must see you. _

_ Grey"_

"Pepper?" Tony prompted as though he'd called her name more than once.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Bad news?"

"I don't…"

"The email."

She desperately didn't want Tony involved with anything that went on between herself and Mister Grey, not because she was being stubborn but because she didn't want his name and reputation tied up in a media frenzy that might crop up if Grey's stalking went public. He was Iron Man. He needed to use his suits for the benefit of the common person, not quick revenge against some crazed stalker.

This was something she could handle herself now that she understood Grey's intent and level of persistence. Creepy McCreeper thought he was going to bully, manipulate, and abuse her? Boy did he have a wake-up call coming that wasn't going to result in anything pleasant. Pepper tucked her phone away and smiled over at Tony.

"No, everything's fine. Just business. Listen to this clause. 'Submissive shall honestly list her hard-limits, the respecting of said limits being at the discretion of the Dominant.'"

"This fucking guy…"

* * *

_To: Ppotts-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_Subject: Response Required_

_Date: 8/19/12 22:30_

_You failed to respond to my email earlier this evening. Your silence does not please me. If you seek to play games with me after your flirtatious exchange in my office during our initial meeting, you won't like the consequences._

_Grey_

* * *

_To: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_From: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: RE Response Required_

_Date: 8/19/12 22:43_

_One would assume my lack of response was response enough to your particular query. How on Earth was I flirtatious with you?_

_Potts_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_Subject: RE Response Required_

_Date: 8/19/12 22:49_

_You deliberately tripped into my office knowing clumsiness is a trait men inherently find appealing. Furthermore, you attempted to cover your clumsiness with thinly-veiled excuses about wardrobe malfunctions when it was clear you were simply overwrought by my physical perfection and were too shy to admit as much. Sign the contract, Virginia. I will show you the mettle of my masculinity._

_Grey_

* * *

_To: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_From: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: RE That BS You Just Spewed_

_Date: 8/19/12 23:12_

_Are you kidding me? You became fixated upon me because I tripped and ended up on your office floor? Here's a bit of advice for you, Mister Grey. You. Are. Not. The. Center. Of. The. Universe. That was surprisingly difficult to type._

_Potts_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_Subject: RE That BS You Just Spewed_

_Date: 8/19/12 23:17_

_Of course that was difficult to type. Lies often are harder to convey than the truth, especially from one as innocent and decent as you. I suppose that's part of your appeal, Miss Potts. Your innocence is like a drug._

_Grey_

* * *

_To: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_From: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: RE That BS You Just Spewed_

_Date: 8/20/12 10:13_

_No, I'm one hundred percent certain the grammatical irregularities made the phrase in question difficult to type. Once again, not the center of the universe, Mister Grey. And don't you "Miss Potts" me. Now, I don't know how you're used to running your business, but I have actual work that needs to get done. That's that thing where you employ your brain power to make important and stable decisions that will affect the entirety of your company, but you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Mister I Bought A Publishing House to Control My Girlfriend._

_Potts_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_Subject: How Dare You_

_Date: 8/20/12 10:25_

_How dare you suggest I'm mismanaging my companies. We're enjoying record profits unlike Stark Industries, which hasn't even fully recovered from the "mismanagement" of Anthony Stark inexplicably changing the foundation of the company from a weapons manufacturer to clean energy._

_What took you so long to respond?_

_Grey_

* * *

_To: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_From: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: RE How Dare You_

_Date: 8/20/12 11:48_

_Because you wouldn't know anything about personal responsibility and ethics. Stop emailing me or I'll be forced to make a harassment report to the local PD._

_It's called sleep. You should try it some time. You might be less cranky._

_Potts_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_Subject: Discipline_

_Date: 8/20/12 11:51_

_I would love nothing more than to beat you right now, to bare your lovely bottom, take you over my thighs, and spank you until your backside is inflamed and stinging with my palm print. You will not make any kind of police report, and even if you did, they wouldn't take your complaint seriously._

_Grey_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_Subject: Hello?_

_Date: 8/20/12 12:30_

_Miss Potts_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_Subject: Where Are You?_

_Date: 8/20/12 12:40_

_Virginia_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_Subject: ANSWER ME NOW!_

_Date: 8/20/12 12:45_

_Where are you, and why haven't you been answering my emails? Respond._

_Grey_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_Subject: ANSWER ME NOW!_

_Date: 8/20/12 12:50_

_If you do not respond in the next fifteen minutes, I will be forced to hack your building's security systems and locate you via the security feed. This is not the behavior of a suitable Submissive. I will teach you the proper manners and respect due me as your Dominant. _

_Grey_

* * *

_To: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_From: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: You're A Freak_

_Date: 8/20/12 1:04_

_I've been in a meeting for the past hour, you moron! Oh I'd like to see you try hacking into our security system, Mister Grey. Jarvis would look at you and laugh._

_What's "fifty shades" supposed to stand for?_

_Potts_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_Subject: No I'm Not_

_Date: 8/20/12 1:07_

_Who is Jarvis? He will cease interactions with you at once, as you belong to me now. Nothing will take you from me. I will defend my claim to you at all costs, because you need me. You need me in a way you've never experienced before, and it frightens you._

_I'm fifty shades of fucked up._

_Grey_

* * *

_To: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_From: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: All My Base Are Not Belong To You_

_Date: 8/20/12 1:20_

_And I'm twenty shades of chartreuse. You don't see me advertising my mental dysfunctions in my email address. It would be rather difficult for me to cease all communications with Jarvis. He runs the building._

_Potts_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_Subject: No I'm Not_

_Date: 8/20/12 1:31_

_Find someone else to run the building then. I will not have you surrounded by strange men at all hours of the day. Capitulate to my demands, Virginia, or I will be forced to discipline you. I cannot guarantee you will enjoy my discipline after you've taken such pleasure in defying me throughout the morning._

_Grey_

* * *

_To: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com _

_From: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: All My Base Are Not Belong To You_

_Date: 8/20/12 1:20_

_Oh God… You know what, I'm not playing with you anymore. Stop contacting me. I genuinely and truthfully have no interest in any kind of relationship with you let alone one in which you think you're entitled to beat me every time I do something you disapprove of. I don't know what type of women you're used to dating, but I feel sorry for them. Clearly, you're a predator who fixates on women whom you think have very poor self esteem and will accept whatever attention you're willing to give them. You manipulate and abuse them, probably because it's the only way you can understand caring about another person. Get help, Mister Grey. Get serious help before you end up getting someone killed._

_Potts_

* * *

__A/N: Huh. The doc manager doesn't allow for writing email addresses. I assume it thinks you're trying to enter a link, which I imagine isn't allowed on this site. Anyhow, that's why the email addresses are written the way they are. Thanks to everyone who takes the time to read and respond. It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, which shall henceforth be known as Warm Fuzzy Syndrome.

Next Chapter: Pepper scoffs at Natasha's email address and Agent Barton gets in a fight with a mouse.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Nauseated by her email exchange with Mister Grey, Pepper padded barefoot across the expensive, charcoal slate of her office floor to glance out over the city skyline. How such a young man could appear so collected while harboring that kind of darkness inside was a mystery, so she allowed herself a moment to be grateful for Tony. He had his issues. People liked to joke that his issues had issues, but he was a good and decent man under all the bluster and posturing. Not for one moment of one day had she ever not felt safe with him.

No, that was inaccurate. There was one period of time when she hadn't felt safe around him. That whole fiasco with Vanko and Tony refusing to tell her he'd been dying of palladium poisoning had been a real test for her. He would never know how close she'd come to throwing in the towel then. The man she'd cared deeply about had been plunging farther and farther off the deep end until she'd been afraid there wasn't anything of the charming and passionate-one had to be innately passionate and driven to become as focused on projects that interested him as Tony often became- man she'd come to know.

Around the same time, Happy had unexpectedly proposed to her. He was the dependable sort of man. One could always count on Harold "Happy" Hogan to be there when he was needed the most, always resolute, always stalwart, and she had been exceedingly fond of him. In ways, Happy was more dependable of a man than Tony, so the disaster that had been Tony's birthday party combined with Happy's proposal had been a real temptation at the time.

So lost in memories was she that Pepper nearly jumped out of her skin when her cell phone chimed another incoming email. If that was Christian Grey emailing her again, people in Stark Tower would be telling their children on Halloween about the beastly banshee haunting the sixth floor for years to come. Relief nearly turned her knees to gelatin when she took note of the email address: bucketosunshine-at-SHIELDmail-dot-com.

* * *

_To: Ppotts-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: bucketosunshine-at-SHIELDmail-dot-com_

_Subject: Stalkers, and Creepers, and Abusers Oh my!_

_Date: 8/20/12 2:33_

_Man troubles with a secret admirer?_

_Widow_

* * *

_To: bucketosunshine__-at-SHIELDmail-dot-com_

_From: Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: RE Stalkers, and Creepers, and Abusers Oh my!_

_Date: 8/20/12 2:37_

_It appears so. Did Tony email you about the matter?_

_Potts_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: bucketosunshine__-at-SHIELDmail-dot-com_

_Subject: RE Stalkers, and Creepers, and Abusers Oh my!_

_Date: 8/20/12 2:41_

_SHIELD is always on threat watch. Do you need assistance?_

_Widow_

* * *

_To: bucketosunshine__-at-SHIELDmail-dot-com_

_From: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: RE Stalkers, and Creepers, and Abusers Oh my!_

_Date: 8/20/12 2:59_

_I honestly don't know. I may have already handled the situation myself. He's been told to go jump off a bridge, and I haven't heard from him since. However, that was only an hour ago. What else are you supposed to do to deter a creepy stalker short of introducing knee to groin? That will be saved as a last resort, as it would require getting close enough to him to perform the maneuver, a risky thing when one is dealing with an abusive creep._

_Potts_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: bucketosunshine__-at-SHIELDmail-dot-com_

_Subject: RE Stalkers, and Creepers, and Abusers Oh my!_

_Date: 8/20/12 3:27_

_Barton will be tailing you for the remainder of the week just to be on the safe side. He won't interfere with your normal routine. Most of the time, you won't even know he's there, so just go about your life as usual. If Creeper decides to make some kind of move, he'll be there to intercept and handle it._

_Widow_

* * *

_To: bucketosunshine__-at-SHIELDmail-dot-com_

_From: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: RE Stalkers, and Creepers, and Abusers Oh my!_

_Date: 8/20/12 3:48_

_Do you really think that's necessary? At the end of the day, it's only one creepy man who's become infatuated with me. It's not as though we're dealing with Genghis Kahn. _

_Bucket of sunshine?_

_Potts_

* * *

_To: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: bucketosunshine__-at-SHIELDmail-dot-com_

_Subject: RE Stalkers, and Creepers, and Abusers Oh my!_

_Date: 8/20/12 4:20_

_You're Stark's sanity. We can't be too cautious. _

_If you hacked SHIELD'S mail service, would you suspect the real identity of "bucketosunshine?"_

_Widow_

* * *

_To: bucketosunshine__-at-SHIELDmail-dot-com_

_From: __Ppotts__-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: RE Stalkers, and Creepers, and Abusers Oh my!_

_Date: 8/20/12 4:23_

_Point and match. _

_Take care, Miss Rushman._

_Potts_

* * *

For the remainder of the week, Pepper was so caught up in meetings with zoning officials in a final push to hammer out zoning changes which would allow for the start of construction on Potts Tower in Chicago that she often forgot about the entire fiasco with Christian Grey. The man made no further attempts to contact her, so she could only conclude he'd finally gotten the message and had decided to focus his attentions on someone else. God, she felt sorry for whomever "someone else" turned out to be.

As promised, Barton kept his distance throughout the week. Pepper only noticed him on two occasions; once when she stopped for a chili dog-sometimes an overworked CEO operating under a great deal of stress just needed something disgustingly greasy, okay?!-and happened to look over while he was lurking by a newspaper stand. The other incident was catching a glimpse of him feeding bites of his sandwich to a stray pit bull when she stepped outside Georgio Armani's after picking up a present for Steve Rogers' upcoming birthday. Tony was throwing a costume party for him at the Tower with his Avengers teammates.

Noticing Barton on those two occasions, however, was enough to make her wonder about him. She hoped, after the man had been brainwashed into doing Loki's bidding, he wasn't just being shuffled back into his regular duties as a SHIELD agent without thought about the ramifications he could be facing. The man was basically a shadow. There was a reason he was called Hawkeye. There was a reason he would rather watch people from a distance than be up close and personal with them, and the idea of their feathered friend being shy and feeling out of sorts with others made her a little sad. Combine that with having been forced into committing actions that had led to the deaths of numerous colleagues, and she couldn't help but feel for him.

Seated behind her desk late in the week, Pepper accepted bags of take out from Stephanie with a smile and a nod of appreciation. "All the paperwork and the presentation demos are ready for my trip to Chicago?" she inquired.

"Yes, Ma'am. You had five calls from Mister Troutbiter during your board meeting, and Mister Stark wants to know what you'll be wearing to Captain Rogers' birthday party."

"Mister Troutbiter…" She was still getting used to saying that particular name with a straight face, so she tried again. "Please direct him to our online application forms and tell him we're more than happy to consider charitable donations of our arc reactors as long as he goes through the proper channels."

"And Mister Stark's inquiry?"

"Inform him I'll be attending Captain Rogers' party as Lauren Hutton."

Stephanie paused momentarily, brow slightly furrowed. "Wasn't she a Playboy Bunny?"

"I believe so, Miss Ward. And we also just accepted a letter of resignation from Lauren Hutton of accounting after thirty-five years of faithful service to the company."

Naturally, Tony would assume she was going as the Playboy Bunny when all Pepper wanted to do was give an homage to a sweet elderly woman who'd given the best years of her life to Stark Industries. Mister Stark had it coming after she'd woken the other morning to a closet full of grey clothes, her wardrobe having been replaced as a means of picking on her for having attracted Mister Grey as a stalker. Yes, he definitely had it coming.

Stephanie's eyes were slightly wider than normal, but one could tell when she figured Pepper's plan out. A smirk tilted her lips. "Enjoy your lunch, Ma'am."

"Thank you, Miss Ward."

A grin was affixed firmly to her lips while opening containers of tomato and basil sandwiches and cartons of cauliflower soup from her favorite deli down the street. There was a soft bang overhead followed by the flex of metal ductwork that caused alarm to shoot goosebumps down her arms. While the building had sustained major damage from the Chitauri attack, she'd been assured it was still structurally sound, so the rattling could only mean one thing. Tension ebbed out of her, replaced with sympathy for her shadow.

"Agent Barton, if you'll come down and have lunch with me, I promise not to tell Agent Romanoff you gave away your position. Allow me to also assure you there will be no cracks about birds, feathers, or Legolas."

Silence.

Seconds later, the creaking increased, and the next thing she knew, the face plate of a narrow duct was being pushed outward. Agent Barton wiggled himself through the opening, rolling the last several inches in order to come gracefully to his feet.

"There was a mouse," he commented by way of explanation for disturbing her work. "It was gnawing on my fingertip." As if to prove his statement, he held his gloved finger aloft, and indeed, it appeared as though something had been trying to chew through the cloth.

"A mouse?" repeated Pepper, complexion paling at the news. "Agent Barton, I wonder if you'd be good enough to replace that face plate while I call a pest company." Because tiny little mice were so much more intimidating than a ten foot tall Iron Monger chasing her down with every intention of killing her. The very thought of a mouse squatting on her face while she was sleeping was enough to make her skin crawl.

Barton was in the process of fitting the grill back against the duct when a streak of movement shot across her office and resulted in Pepper releasing a soft shriek. Instantly in motion, she hurled herself onto her desk to get off the floor and ended up clutching the brass letter opener Tony had given her when she'd moved into the tower office. If that little blighter got anywhere near her, she was determined to be armed.

"Kill it!" she cried.

The agent removed something from one of the utility pockets on his pants. A single motion, graceful as a swan gliding across the surface of a reflecting pool, launched the object in his hand across the room where it hit with a dull thud in the far corner. He was there within seconds and reaching down behind the bookcase to retrieve his prey.

"Is it dead?" she asked with a slight tremble in her voice. "God, tell me it's dead, so I can stop looking like a scared little princess shuddering on her desk."

"No, Miss Potts. It's just stunned."

"What are you waiting for? Kill it!"

"It's a mouse, not the Abomination. There's no need to kill it."

"It's a biological weapon, Agent Barton. They transmit rabies, salmonella, typhus, leptospirosis, rat-bite fever, tape worms, and have you ever heard of the bubonic plague?!"

Clint was laughing at her, she realized with a downturn of her lips. Clear attempts were being made to prevent his lips from twitching, but he was most definitely laughing internally as evidenced by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the uncomfortable tightness of his lips. Who could blame him? The unflappable Pepper Potts was crouched on her desk clutching a letter opener and terrified of the tiny mouse cradled in his hand.

Clearing her throat, she forced herself to slide off the desk and tugged the wrinkles out of her azure pencil skirt. A blush stained her cheeks, and she said, "If you tell anyone I shrieked like a baby, there will be consequences up to and including advising Natasha to get you a bubblegum pink sweater for the Avengers Christmas party."

Mentioning Natasha's name caused an immediate reaction. Humor fled from the agent's expression and gave way to obvious discomfort and unease.

"You and Agent Romanoff aren't the best of friends right now?"

"We just don't see eye to eye on a particular subject. Put two people together with strong opinions on pretty much everything and it's bound to happen."

"Tell you what. You get rid of that death bomb clutched in your hand, and when you return, we can talk about whatever friendship issues you're having with Natasha. Death bomb. I'm starting to become uncomfortable again."

A smirk threatened to creep onto his lips. "Should I deliver the death bomb to Exxon Mobile? A little industrial terrorism to slow down their progress on their line of clean fuels?"

She paused and looked to be considering the suggestion momentarily, but the death bomb twitched, prompting Barton to curl his fingers around the filthy beast, and she jumped slightly. "Just get it out of the building."

Barton padded toward her office door.

"And don't forget to wash your hands before you touch anything!" she called after him.

Plopping down behind her desk with an audible thump, she buried her face in her hands only to realize she was still clutching the letter opener. True story. She'd been jarred from sleep one night as a child to the sensation of a mouse biting into her lip. Her grandmother claimed she'd almost died from the resulting salmonella, so mice weren't her favorite beasties.

Better thoughts were focused on when she remembered how miserable Clint had appeared upon her mention of Agent Romanoff. Now there was a strange couple-who-claimed-they-weren't-a-couple-but-spent-every-waking-moment-together. The sexual chemistry between those two was through the roof and often prompted Tony to come up with gems such as "throw her over the table and make a woman out of her, Barton." As if one could throw Natasha anywhere she didn't already want to go. Surely all they needed was a little push in the right direction to attain full fledged couple status, and her lover was all for arranging that little push.

Pepper wasn't so certain. SHIELD no doubt had rules governing inter-office relationships. They could get fired if they took their chemistry to the next level. They could ruin what appeared to be a well-oiled partnership. Sometimes friends couldn't remain friends once sex was thrown onto the table, and she understood not wanting to ruin a friendship and a working relationship with sex. Those same questions had plagued her when she'd danced with Tony at the firefighter's benefit. Sure, everything had worked out for them, but they were the exception rather than the rule.

Lunch with Agent Barton, on the other hand, proved to be a welcome distraction. The man was soft spoken without being mousy, said a great deal using a minimal amount of words, and was possessed of a pleasant sense of humor that didn't run toward the unusual the way Tony's did. Clint wasn't shy so much as he was conservative with his words, and she got the feeling people often confused that with arrogance or shyness and tended to avoid prolonged conversations with him. Their loss. Pepper was already planning weekly lunch dates with him in the future because she enjoyed his calm confidence so much.

* * *

A/N: Fifty bucks says Coulson set up Natasha's SHIELDmail and wouldn't let her change it once she'd achieved full-fledged agent status. Thank you all for taking the time to read and comment.

-Next chapter, Tony impersonates a ragetoon face, and Pepper breaks Christian..._down there. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"So, Lauren Hutton," Tony commented while leaning against the door frame of her walk-in closet where she was packing a bag for her trip.

The shit-eating grin on his face was as impossible to miss as the jaunty thrust of his chest. A phrase involving peacocks and displays of masculine satisfaction came to mind, but she avoided remarking on his preening. Tony Stark's mating vibes weren't subtle in the least. Her smirk was hidden behind the open lid of her luggage. Obviously, he'd fallen into the line of thinking she'd anticipated.

"Do you not approve? I thought a tasteful homage to a successful businesswoman would be a lovely use of my costume-choosing capabilities."

"Oh, I approve," he returned, his grin widening. "Not sure if Captain Colloquialisms will approve, but it's not his party."

"It's his birthday. One would think that automatically makes it his party."

"Yes, but I planned it. That makes it my party, which means I can dictate what is and isn't acceptable. You showing up in a Playboy Bunny outfit? Acceptable."

"And what are you wearing to this birthday-slash-costume-slash-Tony-Stark-ego-stroking-party? Bear in mind that if you say 'The Iron Man' suit, I will raid your workshop with a can of pink spray paint, and you know Jarvis will look the other way when I do."

"That's easy. I'm going as Thor."

Pepper chuckled. "It's not nice to cast aspersions on someone who isn't here to defend himself. I do hope he's able to come back and visit us soon, though."

"So I'm not good enough to be Thor?"

Coming around the table where her luggage was resting, she placed her fingertips against his chest and leaned in to kiss him and take any sting out of her crack. "You're not tall enough to be Thor, Smoogles."

He was left with his eyes closed and lips slightly pursed. "I'm sorry, what?" Blinking rapidly, he slung an arm around her waist to pull her in tighter. "And what's a smoogle?"

"Something between a snuggle and a smooch."

"I'm a smoogle?"

"Of course, because whenever I'm around you, I can't decide if I'd rather snuggle you or kiss you until your toes curl."

"That's easy. Kiss me; I'm yours," Tony exclaimed. He lifted her about the waist and spun around to settle her on the edge of the table with a smooth motion.

"Tony, I have to finish packing. The jet will be ready to depart in three hours, and unlike some people, I don't keep professionals waiting around twiddling their thumbs."

"The jet can't leave without you. What's the point of having a private jet if you're going to bother yourself with keeping schedules and arriving places on time? You may as well just fly first class on any carrier."

"They have male flight attendants in the mile high club, you know."

"Take the jet."

"Thought you might say that," she said with a teasing grin before cupping his cheeks and kissing him, her mouth lingering against his longer than necessary. Whether he believed it or not, she was as loathe to turn down hanky panky in the closet as he was. "But if you're a really good boy, I'll set up the webcam and let you watch me put my hand down my…"

"Sir, Doctor Banner has just arrived and is requesting a face to face. I believe he requires your assistance on a matter concerning a medical crisis in Cambodia."

Laughter bubbled out of her when Tony made a perfect representation of that silly face depicted in ragetoon memes rampant on sites like Tumblr.

"I'm short circuiting your speech capabilities and installing software that helps you fully understanding the meaning of the term 'bad timing!'" The contents of Jarvis' interruption hit him a split second later, and he turned on a mega-watt grin. "Doctor Banner is here? Let him up." That said, he turned his attention back to Pepper. "Call me when you land, and hurry back. There's something important I have to ask you."

* * *

A smile remained on her lips when she applied card key to door lock at her hotel a few hours later. How could Tony leave her with his last comment lingering in the air? He had something very important he had to ask her when she got home? That was just rude and uncalled for, a deliberate attempt to make her squirm for an entire weekend or encourage her to conclude her business early and rush home again.

Why the mental manipulation? And if it wasn't a deliberate attempt to manipulate her into stressing all weekend, why not just ask the question rather than prepare her for the fact that he was going to ask it at some point in the future? Inquiring as to whether or not she wanted to adopt a puppy with him was technically an important question but not nearly as sentimentally meaningful as asking if she'd marry him or have kids with him or a whole host of other queries that would lead to them making their relationship a more permanent fixture in their lives.

The thought of Stark Spawn dialed up the brightness of her smile as she stepped inside and deposited her card key on a small end table. Having Stark DNA was a guarantee said offspring would be a handful. Undoubtedly, they would take after their father and end up being bundles of unspent energy and never ending curiosity that caused them to do things like attempt to turn the toaster into a super computer at the age of three. But they would be her little bundles of Stark Spawn, and she would smother them with love.

Proof that she couldn't allow herself to dwell on his important question! She would spend the weekend fantasizing about what question could be so important rather than looking after the company's best interests. She was the CEO of a successful business and shouldn't be susceptible to things like flights of fancy! The zoning committee would laugh her out of the board room. She would fail to find a suitable home for Potts Tower, and the business community would mock her into oblivion.

A deep breath pleasantly stretched her lungs before she forcefully shoved thoughts of Tony Stark out of her mind and headed for the door leading to the suite's bedroom. Shock froze her in her tracks and yanked a terrible shout from her throat when she realized a man was lounging in her bed. It wasn't just any man either. Christian Grey was on _her_ bed in_ her_ hotel suite in a city that clearly wasn't big enough for both of them.

"Happy to see me, my dear?" he drawled in his dark-chocolate-and-caramel-and-raspberry-and-milk-chocolate-mousse-and-key-lime-pie-and-rainbow-sherbert-and-gravy voice.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her tone bordering on a shout. Agent Barton had spent an entire week in the air ducts of her office and as soon as they deemed it safe enough for him to go back to his normal saving the world duties, Creepy McStalkerson showed up?

"Come now, Virginia. You knew I would come. You knew I would see through your attempts to play hard to get in order to inflame my desires, and your struggle worked with remarkable efficiency. I must have you."

"What you're going to have, Mister Grey, is the heel of my pump lodged in your eye socket if you don't leave this suite in the next three seconds. This is unacceptable."

Pepper backpedaled when the man, and he was of a rather imposing size, rolled to his feet and glided in her direction. There was a predatory quality in the way he stalked her, so it was imperative she maintain distance between them in order to anticipate whether or not he was about to lunge. Right. Well and truly frightened now!

"No, what is unacceptable is your continued defiance. I've given you my terms and will no longer play these emotional and manipulative games you're attempting. You've led me on from the moment you fell into my office."

"Oh my God… For the absolute last time, the reason I fell into your office was because the heel of my shoe snapped off. Get out. I'm calling the police." She reached for her bag where her cell phone was stowed away only to discover she'd left it by the door without realizing it. Bouncing imaginary Stark Spawn on her knee apparently rendered her brain dead!

The only thing that saved her when Christian suddenly lunged left was Happy and his constant need to blether on about self-defense. _ "Lesson Number Thirteen: Whatever foot your attacker rolls onto the ball of is the direction he's going to lunge."_ So when Christian rolled onto the ball of his left foot, she was prepared for him to lunge in time to skitter out of the way.

"I'm going to enjoy beating you into submission, Virginia."

"And this is why you're Creepy McCreeper instead of Sexy McBondage."

Again, she was able to elude him, but with the tight confines of the hotel suite, it was only a matter of time before she ran out of room or miscalculated in which direction he was going to move. That moment arrived sooner than she would have liked. He charged her from the front. Rather than having enough room to spin out of the way, the back of her calves came in contact with the low coffee table, and she ended up tumbling over it backwards. Within seconds, he was on her, hands locking around her wrists, body heaving upward until he was situated on the sofa with her sprawled face-down across his lap.

"Stop!"

"I'm going to take what I want from you regardless of your consent. God, you're like a drug. I can't get you out of my system without knowing you on the basest level."

"Oh God…"

An open palm came down against her ass, and that was enough to light her up like a badly-decorated Christmas tree. She yelped and was immediately thrashing across his lap in the hopes of breaking his hold or somehow dislodging his grip on the back of her neck. Her teeth sank into the flesh of his thigh. He yelped and unclenched his fingers from her hair. Once her head was free, she was able to gouge her nails into the softer flesh of his lower belly, which was what ultimately caused his grip on her to loosen.

She was immediately rolling onto her knees, at which point, Pepper Potts slugged him as hard as she could possibly manage right in the crotch. "Don't you understand the meaning of the word 'no?'" she shrieked at the top of her lungs, face red, ass stinging from his slap.

Creepy McAbuser was too busy gasping and holding his manly parts to respond, which only afforded her the slightest amount of satisfaction.

Scrambling to her feet, she raced across the suite and laid hands on her bag to dig her cell phone out. Nine-one-one was already punched into the phone, her thumb hovering over the call icon when his rasping voice gave her pause.

"You mean you really don't want to have anything to do with me?"

"Duh!"

"You don't have to call the authorities, Miss Potts. I'll go and won't bother you again. Somehow, I must have completely misread your signals. I thought you were wanting to be pursued, that your denials were just part of the game."

"And you thought that gave you the right to stalk, threaten, and frighten me?!" she shouted. How could any man be so thoroughly removed from reality?

"There is a certain and specific type of woman I engage in intimate activities with, and I mistook you as being that type of woman."

"So when you say 'a certain type' do you mean psychotic women who enjoy being stalked, threatened, and abused or are we talking about emotionally vulnerable women who are more easily manipulated into thinking you're Sir Sexalot when you're really hiding behind your pretty face pulling off a thoroughly-convincing Mister Burns impersonation?"

His expression tightened. "How dare you question my preferences."

"I couldn't care less about who you go to bed with, Creepy McCreeperson, as long as you're not physically and emotionally abusing them. If there's a bruise on my ass in the morning…" She allowed the open-ended threat to trail off while rubbing her abused backside. Sidling closer to the door where she could have a quick means of escape, Pepper pressed the call icon on her phone. "Hello, I have an intruder in my suite and need the police."

That certainly snagged his attention, and he shot to his feet, expression still strained when he straightened his position. "I told you this was just a misunderstanding. There's no reason to contact the authorities when I'm happy to leave and never contact you again. Jesus, I think you broke my…"

"I don't care what I broke down there. Of course I'm contacting the authorities. You think I'm going to let you walk away thinking you can do this to the next hapless woman who has an accident in your office? Hello? Hi. Yes, I need to report an assault."

Apparently Stalker McCreepy didn't like that one bit. Of course not. He was a powerful Seattle socialite used to getting his way and having the authorities overlook his wrongdoings. No doubt he threatened women into not pressing charges at all, so alarm pricked the fine hairs along her arms when he moved. He lunged, hand closing around Pepper's wrist to yank her phone from her hand. The thunderous expression flaring his nostrils assured her this wasn't going to be pretty nor end with a single smack to her ass.

* * *

A/N I enjoyed writing about Christian Grey getting it in the crotch much more than I probably should have. Thank you for your lovely comments. I've been keeping them in mind as I write new sections.

Next Chapter: Natasha figures Christian likes it hard and dirty, and Tony asks Pepper an important question.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"You need to be put in your place, Virginia," Christian growled softly while twisting her wrist until her fingers were too numb to grasp her phone.

"And you think you're man enough to do it? I've faced down exploding robots and madmen bent on killing me, and you think one Creeper is going to make me cringe?" But for all her brave talk, there was a tremble in her lower belly. Her knees were watery, because she felt the strength of Christian's grip threatening to bruise her wrist.

"I'm more than up to the job."

Happy's advice was recalled from the depths of her memories: _"Rule number seventeen: Wait until the last possible second and take your attacker by surprise."_

Breath caught in her throat when Christian wrenched the phone out of her hand, dropped it on the ground, and crushed it under the heel of his shoe, and she used that one second of distraction to her advantage. Her knee came up between his legs, resulting in a pained yelp and the loosening of his grip around her wrist. Wrenching said wrist away from him, she achieved freedom by shoving against his chest while he was busy clutching his re-abused crotch.

Escape was snatched away when he caught hold of the trailing end of her pony tail, her scalp left smarting when her momentum caused a painful snap of her head and neck upon being jerked to an immediate halt. Real fear was beginning to root inside her gut and cause her pulse to beat out a staccato rhythm when she felt his harsh breathing against the back of her neck which preceded his hand smacking solidly against the swell of her backside. There wasn't a question of his intentions. He was going to take what he wanted regardless of her consent and show her in the basest way possible that he was a dominant male.

The breath was knocked out of her when Christian propelled her forward and forced her face first onto the dining table. Though she struggled to keep her hands out of his grasp, he brought them under control and yanked them up onto her back at an awkward angle. She was well and truly caught, but there were no tears. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Stop," she gasped raggedly. "This is not sexy. I do not consent."

"Did I ask for your consent, Virginia?" Emphasis was placed on her full name so she wouldn't miss the fact he deliberately used it because it irritated her.

"When this is over, I'm going to drop you and your contract into a real BDSM club and let them deal with your perverted view of what their lifestyle is all about. I can think of no more fitting way to get justice for what you're doing." She jerked when his open palm made contact with her smarting ass cheek again.

A sharp snapping sound was almost harsh on her ears. Her attacker paused in response, and Pepper mounted one last defense. The heel of her pump came down hard against the top of his foot, causing Christian to release a shout and loosen his grip on her hands. Rather than trying to escape again, she rolled to the side and delivered a firm kick to his stomach that propelled him backwards, and that was when she noticed Natasha closing the door behind her and Barton coming in through the opening where the window had once been.

Within seconds, Agent Romanoff urged the crazy bastard away from her by twisting his ear until he was forced to choose between backing away or having his ear ripped off, and there was some morbid part of her that squealed at the idea of seeing his blood. Sadly, he cooperated only to have Natasha slam him face first against the nearest wall. A grunt left him when she locked her hand against the back of his head and smacked his nose against the sheetrock.

"Dear me. Oh my. Was that too hard for you?" the agent purred in a monotone. "I thought you liked things hard and dirty."

Christian struggled for a moment. "Take your hands off me."

Attempting to push away from the wall was thwarted when the agent grabbed his fingers and twisted them, urging his arm up behind his back lest she break said fingers with a delighted giggle, and Pepper wasn't at all torn on the issue of whether or not Natasha would have giggled like a princess being given her first tiara.

"I hear you like beating women," Natasha said in a husky tone bordering on seductive.

"She would have enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed it?!" Pepper shrieked. Barton, who had been in the process of helping her up, was almost clobbered right in the nose when she flailed and jerked toward Christian with every intent of breaking his nose against the wall. Alas, the agent was too quick and snagged her up in mid-lunge to prevent retribution from being attained.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Romanoff queried. A soft popping sound as Natasha exerted pressure against his fingers resulted in a breathy cry of pain when one of Christians' knuckles gave beneath the pressure. Agent Romanoff's smile wasn't pleasant.

A warble of pain lingered in the man's voice when he gasped, "What kind of sick freak are you? You just broke my finger!"

"No, I didn't," Natasha said. "I merely dislocated your knuckle. Say one more word to Miss Potts, and that is when the breaking will begin."

"Guess he's not into masochism. So if Miss Potts is an honorary member of the Avengers, does that mean we get to send him to the Vault?" Barton inquired.

"I wonder if he'd like sharing a cell with Hobgoblin," Tasha commented while tightening a zip tie around his wrists, causing him to flinch. "Oh, I'm sorry. Was that too tight? You're man enough to take it, aren't you?"

"I'll have your badges for this."

"He thinks we have badges, Clint. How quaint."

"Stark will be here shortly, Miss Potts," Clint said while taking Christian from Tasha and heading him toward the door. There was nothing subtle about the way Clint rammed Grey into the door frame rather than guiding him through it. Grey came away with a bloody nose. "Ouch. That looked like it hurt. So, Grey, if we come up with a contract between Hobgoblin and you, you'll sign it right?"

Their voices faded as Agent Barton escorted Christian from her suite, and Pepper blew out a long breath before slumping against the dining table. That, however, only aggravated her abused backside. She flinched. "Thank you for coming, Agent Romanoff."

"Like I said, you're Stark's sanity. That means you make our jobs and lives easier. Besides, any woman with a kick like that deserves my props." Natasha finished with a smile. "Couple of things, though. Don't let your attacker get that close to you again, and…"

"How about you train me in self defense when you finally cave to Tony's requests that you and Clint move into the tower. And you will eventually cave. Tony's persistent like that."

Mentioning Clint caused the agent's expression to sour slightly.

Sighing, she settled a hand on Tasha's shoulder. All was not well between Agents Barton and Romanoff, and they were just stubborn enough to continue with their obstinate silence rather than resolving whatever issue lay between them. Pepper doubted she'd get any farther toward finding out the source of their disagreement by talking to Tasha than she had attempting to pry it from Clint, but she was willing to try. There were girl talks in their immediate future.

* * *

"I'm sorry. You broke his what?"

"Shut up, Tony. I can practically hear you smirking underneath that serious face," she responded. Lying face down on the soft mattress of her hotel suite was the only remotely comfortable position after that evil, terrible man had mauled her ass.

"You're going to be cranky and take that tone of voice with me after I broke the sound barrier with Mark Eight to get here in time to save you?" There was a definite pout in his voice.

"You mean after I'd already saved myself? After Agents Barton and Romanoff had already handled the cleaning up of the situation and carted him out of here in handcuffs? Well, it was actually a zip tie, but you get the idea. Are those the heroics you were trying to get here in time to complete?"

"Yes," he murmured.

Even with her face buried in the pillow, she could hear the downturn of his tone, so she unburied her hand from beneath her pillow and slithered her fingers over to find and seize hold of his. There was a twinge of pain remaining when she rolled over in order to smirk up at her lover, and she brought his hand to her lips.

"These are the only heroics I need from you, Mister Stark. I never liked white horses."

"Did you know they aren't actually white? They're grey, but the pigmentation in their…"

She cut him off. "The word "grey" is henceforth stricken from your vocabulary, and stop interrupting me with genetics lessons. Bruce comes to visit, and you suddenly start spouting about melatonin and the precise number of chemical functions that take place in the formations of RNA when making up a person's DNA."

A definite smirk was firmly affixed to his lips as he reached down to caress her cheek. "We're having a moment, aren't we?"

"We're having eighty-eight percent of a moment."

"Hey, where did the other twelve percent…" His expression went flat.

Laughing, she came up on her elbow, cupped his chin, and molded their mouths together for an extended kiss. Sometimes it didn't seem fair that she'd fallen for a man who placed himself in harm's way more often than she would have liked. Her life would be lived worrying when that next catastrophe would drop on them, when that one wrong move in battle would mean he didn't come home to her. She was setting herself up for heartache. But she was one hundred percent sure whatever time she had with him was worth any grief the future brought.

"So now that we're here. Together. Alone. What was that important question you said you were going to ask me when I got back from my trip?"

"That? I just wanted to know how you felt about moving Stark operations here on a more permanent basis. If I can talk my teammates into moving into the tower with us, it will be convenient to have our headquarters out of New York rather than Malibu."

"Oh." Masking the disappointment in her voice was impossible, but she quickly smiled so as not to pressure him with knowing she'd been expecting a question of a different sort.

"I haven't forgotten a birthday or anniversary, have I? If you expect to celebrate our year and two month anniversary, you're going to have to tell me these things. You know how forgetful I am when I dive into a project."

"No, I wasn't expecting anything else." She cupped his cheek and leaned up again to give him another kiss before rolling back onto her stomach. "If you want to be my hero, you can totally hold an ice pack against my backside."

Silence enveloped the bedroom when Tony rolled to his feet and padded out into the main living space. Upon his return, he eased the waistband of her boy shorts down, no doubt to inspect the bruise that had been left behind. Intense cold settled against her abused body part seconds later.

"This fucking guy…"

* * *

A/N: I hope everyone had a great Christmas. Be sure to have a safe and happy New Years! As always, thank you so much for reading and taking time to comment. I'm planning on wrapping this up in the next chapter. Is anyone interested in reading a series of Christian Grey Vs other Marvel girls? I can either continue here by expanding into other Marvel heroines or focus on a story in which Pepper leads a series of team building exercises after the Avengers have a very public fight.

Next Chapter: Clintasha is not a Vegas commercial. Tony surprises Pepper in her closet.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Russia was a long time ago, Clint," Tasha said, her voice suddenly emanating from some point in Pepper's office that made Pepper jerk her glance away from the papers on her desk to locate the disturbance.

"Tash, this is not a Vegas commercial. What happens in Russia doesn't have to stay in Russia. What's really bothering you?"

There was a long pause, time in which Pepper got to her feet in an attempt to track which direction their voices were coming from. She knew damn well Agents Barton and Romanoff weren't hiding in her desk. Popping open the door of her attached bathroom revealed nothing unusual. Nope, no SHIELD agents hiding in the toilet.

"I don't…" Tasha paused again before continuing, "We work well together. We have an amazing partnership, and I don't want to ruin it by throwing feelings into the mix."

"But it was okay to throw feelings into the mix back in Russia."

"This is different. Back then it was raw sex. We were having a good time, and some of it was us deliberately using each other to get our rocks off. I didn't care if I hurt you back then."

"Gee thanks."

"Don't be like that, Barton. You aren't some paragon of virtue whose innocence I stole."

"Point. So you're worried if we take that step and play hide the baton in the SHIELD locker it's going to muddy the waters, make working together difficult."

"Aren't you? We've got a specific job to do, and I fucked up. I allowed my single-minded focus to find you to get in the way. Bruce paid the price. How much worse would it have been if we'd been actively sleeping together? Orgasm based pair bonding is terrifying."

"And waking up thirty years from now seconds before a knife penetrates your eye socket wondering what we could have been together isn't? You're not going to be another Coulson. I'm not going to watch you die with shit left unsaid between us."

"That's different."

"How? Coulson's dead, and neither one of us took the chance to tell him how much we respected and loved him."

Pepper's eyes flooded with moisture at the mention of Phil Coulson. The grief was still there weighing her heart down. Following the sound of their voices brought her to the bookcase behind which Clint had neutralized the mouse.

"Stop…" Agent Romanoff was clearly breathless, her voice warbling slightly.

"Natasha…" Agent Barton sounded equally as breathless.

"Don't make me choose between you and emotional security," she whispered.

"I don't have to make you. You're already emotionally compromised where I'm concerned, so the real question here is whether or not we should enjoy the benefits along with the obligations. Tash…" There was a brief pause. "I'm scared too."

Finally, she found a button-sized device against the back of her bookcase which she recognized as being SHIELD tech, one of their two-way microphone and camera combinations Tony had spent an entire evening taking apart and studying not long ago. Barton had either forgotten to remove it after the Christian Grey threat had been neutralized or had forgotten to turn it off prior to their conversation.

"Damn you, Barton," Tasha was saying. A soft sound escaped her throat, the kind a woman made when she was seconds away from coming.

To be fair, Pepper attempted to wipe the smile off her face when she discerned the sounds of kissing coming through the device. There existed a moral obligation that she turn off the device rather than eavesdropping, but at the same time, she was reluctant to miss how this particular conversation concluded. The distinct sound of a zipper being undone emanated, and her cheeks flushed red. Nope! She couldn't stand there listening to them having sex!

But Tony certainly benefited from the brief eroticism when she found him in his workshop later and entered her access code in order to join him. She had this kink where she secretly loved having his hands all over her body when he'd been working on one of his cars.

* * *

"I know I'm late," Pepper exclaimed when she rushed into their bedroom in Stark Tower a couple of weeks later. "The meeting ran longer than I expected, and our head lawyer wanted to keep me on the phone sorting out a patenting issue. Why don't you go ahead and start the party without me." She dashed into the closet to find the box where she'd hidden her party costume.

That Tony was loitering around wearing an exaggerated replication of Thor's armor didn't strike her as odd at first, so she just ran headlong past him in her haste to get ready so as not to be extraordinarily late for Captain Rogers' party. Streaking to a halt, she back-pedaled and stuck her head back out of the closet, eyes wide.

"Tony, are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

"There's a party supposed to be happening in the lounge, and you're here rather than downstairs pouring drinks from the liquor cabinet."

"Touché. Waiting for you and making sure you hadn't forgotten was more important than pouring alcohol. Whomever has already arrived can help themselves."

A brow popped up. Shaking her head, she stepped back into the closet, her attention finally settling on a pile of stuff on her dressing table. Closer inspection revealed a mass of pictures scattered all over the place. Some of them were pictures of Tony looking goofy. Others were pictures of them clipped out of magazines and photo albums. The center of the table contained a small box which she gravitated toward. A ring containing a singular diamond surrounded by a band of sapphires and rubies was nestled inside.

Excitement pooled in her belly. She wanted to fling herself against Tony and giggle like a schoolgirl but forced herself to remain calm. A "Will you marry me" note hadn't turned up yet, and she didn't want to jump to conclusions and end up looking like an idiot. So Pepper started sorting through the photos, laughing at a few of the goofy ones and getting misty eyed by a couple that showed Tony gazing at her in an adoring fashion or her gazing at him.

Finally. Scrawled on the back of one of the photos of him doing the adoring gaze was a hand-written note in Tony's chicken scratch writing. "Will you marry me" would have been far too traditional. No, he'd chosen "I want to get hitched, and you were the most convenient option. Do you want to do that thing where we say 'I do?'"

Her mega-watt grin could have blotted out the sun when she turned to find him standing in the doorway. "Well that depends, Mister Stark. Do you want twelve percent of a wife?"

"I'd rather have the whole thing if it's all the same to you. You know, if you don't mind getting hitched to me and Iron Man at the same time, so I guess the real question is 'Do you want to polygamy with us?'"

Laughing, she hurried across the closet and wrapped him up in her arms. "I don't think 'polygamy' is a verb. Aren't I marrying you, Iron Man, and Jarvis?"

"No, we decided Jarvis gets jealous too easily and would therefore never be able to make our polygamist union work."

"Well, in that case…" She paused for a few heartbeats to pretend like she was thinking about it, but blotting out her smile wasn't possible. "Yes, Tony. Absolutely, I'll enter into whatever state of holy, unholy, or eternal wedded bliss with you."

Tony smiled often and generally had a good time with life, but she rarely saw the type of bone deep smile on his face when she finally gave him her answer. He was grinning from ear to ear when he hugged her around the waist and lifted her feet off the floor. Their lips sealed the commitment to one another until a certain British accent interrupted their miniature celebration.

"Sir, Agent Romanoff has arrived with the package for Captain Rogers."

"Jarvis…" Only he let out a very put-upon sigh instead of launching into a rant about timing and interruptions. "Yeah, we'll be there shortly."

Her hands smoothed across his shoulders. "We should probably keep this to ourselves until Captain Rogers' birthday celebrations are over. It would be in bad taste to steal the spotlight from him. What package?"

"Tasha and Clint have spent the past year finding an old friend of Steve's. He finally made clearance through SHIELD's deprogramming course. Name of Barnes or something like that. So Mrs. Stark, or should I call you Lauren Hutton?"

"Mrs. Stark will do nicely."

* * *

Epilogue

Hushed voices whispered all around him, blending together in such a drone of sound he couldn't make out any individual words to determine where he was or who was surrounding him. Three things Christian knew for certain. One, he was on his knees and leaning back against his ankles. Two, his hands were secured behind his back with the zip tie Agents Barton and Romanoff had used to escort him from Virginia's hotel suite. The discomfort was becoming acute in his middle knuckle, which Agent Romanoff had dislocated. And three, a blindfold-it smelled rather like it had spent a year inside a dirty gym bag-was tied so tightly around his eyes he feared the edge of said cloth would cut open his skin.

"I demand to know where I am and who you are," he said in a dark-chocolate-and-caramel-and-raspberry-and-milk-chocolate-mousse-and-key-lime-pie-and-rainbow-sherbert-and-gravy-and-buffalo-chicken-wing-and-hot-sauce-and-jalapeno voice.

"You will hold your silence, Grey." The sharp voice that cut through the drone surrounding him was female and had such a bite he came close to flinching.

"How dare you speak to me like that. I'm The Christian Grey." The tremble of fear in his voice betrayed him, but how could he experience anything other than real fear?

"Your name will not save you here."

A sharp cracking sound made his eardrums throb. Said sound was vaguely familiar and reminded him of the crack of a whip snapping through the air. "Who are you?" he asked. The flutter in his voice intensified.

"We are the Council For Appropriate And Safe Practice of Bondage And Discipline, Dominance And Submission, And Sadism And Masochism. Or CFAASPBDDSSM. You've been a very naughty boy, Christian, wandering around convincing emotionally vulnerable women that what you practice is BDSM."

"You don't understand," he breathed. "I'm fifty shades of fucked up."

"Even more reason why you desperately need our instruction. Shall we begin?"

A gasp rushed into his lungs when someone jerked at the knot holding his blindfold in place. The cloth fell away, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to get a look at his surroundings. Fear pooled in his gut. Finally, he managed to crack his eyes open. Dozens of people were milling around him in constant motion. There were whips and paddles in abundance. One woman carried upon her hip a short cane imbedded with nubbins of steal. A plethora of candles burned, infusing the air with the heavy scent of beeswax. And then his glance lifted to the woman seated in a high-backed throne, one latex stiletto propped on the armrest, leg bent at the knee. A black leather mask covered her features.

"You can't do this to me," he muttered with wide eyes and desperation lacing his tone. "R-romanoff. This is all Romanoff's fault."

Rolling to her feet, the woman glided in his direction. Her leather-clad fingers grazed his cheek and tucked beneath his chin in order to force him to look at her. "Your safe word is antidisestablishmentarianism ."

"No," he croaked softly, eyes widening, but his awkward position wouldn't allow him to skitter backwards to put distance between them. "No!"

* * *

A/N: Okay, that epilogue was too much fun to write. I may have a condition or something. I've decided to carry on with this series, so be looking for new chapters posted here.

Next Chapter: Christian seeks out legal council from Jennifer Walters, AKA She-Hulk. Clint returns from a mission in Africa to find Natasha buried in Wedding Inspiration.


	8. Christian Grey Vs She-Hulk

Chapter 8

Christian Grey Vs. She-Hulk

"Mister Grey, Miss Walters asked me to inform you she's running a tad late. You're welcome to wait in her office if you'd prefer, and she'll be with you as soon as she returns from her hearing," a blonde secretary said.

His nostrils flared disdainfully, head cocking back a degree. Her hair wasn't blonde enough, he realized, the shade more a muddy dishwater with lighter strands of gold and canary and lemon and mustard and butterscotch weaving through in a way that made her hair dull. Not like the pure sweet cream with hints of red that had been Virginia's color. Nostrils flared again as he imagined Virginia's scent filling his nostrils, that intoxicating mixture of lemon and fear he remembered from their altercation in Chicago.

Lips turned down a fraction. He absently rubbed his middle knuckle when he remembered the disastrous conclusion to his torrid affair with Virginia, how Agent Romanoff had interjected herself in a situation where she clearly hadn't been wanted or needed. She'd dislocated his knuckle with a precise amount of pressure. That kind of control made something in his gut twitch with excitement.

Sadly, that chapter of his life was over. Two months had passed, and because of the intrusion by Agents Romanoff and Barton, Virginia had fled from him, scared to such an extent she'd accepted a proposal from Anthony Stark. So it was time to move on, time to overcome the trauma he'd undergone in the Leather Lounge where he'd been confronted and held prisoner by the dastardly Council For Appropriate And Safe Practice of Bondage And Discipline, Dominance And Submission, And Sadism And Masochism. Or CFAASPBDDSSM for short. He would move on in the only way he could, by obtaining recompense from Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton, which had brought him to the Superhuman Law Division of Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway and to the office of Jennifer Walters.

"Mister Grey?" the secretary prompted.

A smile was affixed to his expression when he glanced up at the secretary again. "Yes, I do believe I'll wait in her office."

That said, he rolled to his feet, a brief tug pulling any wrinkles from his grey suit jacket, and padded after the dishwater blonde. Miss Walters' office was well kept and austere in appearance. Clearly, the woman appreciated order and organization, two qualities he couldn't live without in his own domicile. Brief perusal of the law degree hanging on her wall told him she'd graduated from Yale's law department. From that, he could infer she was a brilliant woman dedicated to her career. Good. Those qualities would serve her well in nailing Romanoff and Barton to the wall.

Christian Grey didn't sit on the subservient side of a desk, so he helped himself to her chair to wait, amusing himself by answering a few business-related emails. Regardless of what Virginia had accused him of, he did engage in actual business. When it was necessary. And he had no other staff to take care of the task that needed doing. He was presently attempting to sell the Seattle publishing firm he'd purchased in an effort to be part of every facet of Miss Steele's life. What a disastrous decision that had been.

Anticipation quickened his heartbeat when muffled voices drifted through the door some time later. The diminutive brunette who strolled inside shortly thereafter glanced in his direction and promptly stumbled, pitching forward at such an angle she couldn't regain her balance and ended up sprawled on the floor. A stack of file folders scattered around her.

Breath gasped into his lungs, pulse racing when he bore witness to color blooming in her cheeks while she scrambled to right herself. A familiar twitch south of his belt was entirely unexpected, as he'd anticipated a long grieving process over the loss of his relationship with Virginia. But here before him was a glorious replacement. She was small and willowy. Her dark hair was tangled around her shoulders in disarray.

"I am so sorry, Mister Grey. I can't think what came over me to be so clumsy," she rushed to explain.

"Please, there's no need to apologize. Clearly, you were overwhelmed by my masculine perfection and such is understandable and forgivable."

Her brow knit slightly, but rather than denying the truth, she merely stooped to gather her folders. "You'll have to forgive me for keeping you waiting. Over the phone, you indicated you were robbed of your due process by representatives of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division?"

No nonsense, he mused. That was a fitting way to describe his Jennifer. The law came first, and their budding affection for one another came second. He supposed that was as it should be, but denying the urge to feel the sting of his palm against her ass was surprisingly difficult.

"That is correct. I would like to file a civil lawsuit against Agent Natasha Romanoff and Agent Clint Barton for their part in denying me a fair trial by a jury of my peers. Because of their actions, I have sustained unending trauma and have been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder. You, being a most brilliant defender of the law, were the clear choice."

* * *

Jenny's cheeks were still burning later that afternoon while seated at her desk filling out a complaint on behalf of Christian Grey. God, she couldn't believe she'd tripped right there in front of him. The fault lay squarely with the shoes She-Hulk had replaced her normal court pumps with. She normally wore a very modest pair of pumps with a low heel, but her alter ego had apparently deigned them too conservative, so she'd woken that morning to find all her standard work shoes replaced with stilettos. Walking around on a four inch heel was insanely difficult when one wasn't used to the height and balance.

Palming her face, she reached under her desk to massage the aching muscle of her twisted ankle. Adjusting after the accident had been difficult. There'd been no other available blood donor, so her cousin, Bruce Banner, had valiantly come to her rescue and had donated his own blood to the cause of saving her life. Because of the transfusion of his gamma irradiated cells, she'd inherited an alter ego of her own. Only this time, the alter ego had expressed herself as a confident and sexually assertive female who lacked none of the shortcomings Jenny possessed. Oh, and had she mentioned that She-Hulk was green?

She-Hulk had promptly launched into a campaign of wearing Jenny down and replacing artifacts of her life as Jennifer Walters with more vixen-appropriate alternatives. The blouse with a plunging neckline that revealed ample cleavage? She-Hulk's contribution to her wardrobe. The skin tight mini-skirt hanging in her closet? That had been She-Hulk too.

And because She-Hulk had determined that comfortable, serviceable heels that would allow her to move confidently through a courtroom were just too conservative, she'd made a fool of herself in front of Mister Grey. Oh but he was a dashing young man and quite attractive to boot. There was an air of dominance about him she wasn't used to in men. He was alpha male and wanted the entire female population to know it.

"Miss Walters, I'm leaving for the evening. Do you need anything before I go?" Mallory Adams, her very capable assistant asked after sticking her head inside Jenny's office.

"No thank you. I'm just going to finish up this complaint, so it can be filed in the morning. Then I'll be leaving myself."

"Weren't you going to have drinks with Chad tonight?"

Jenny clenched her bottom lip between her teeth again and ducked her head slightly, gaze fixating on the pattern in her office carpet. "No, I cancelled in order to get this filing completed."

"Jenny…"

"You're going to miss your train if you don't hurry along," she said in an effort to thwart the lecture she heard building in Mallory's tone.

The other woman didn't bother masking her disappointment, but she said, "Okay. Next week, you're coming out for drinks and dancing with the rest of us."

"Depends on how busy I am."

Mallory's disappointment increased exponentially.

"I'll think about it!"

"That's as good as I'm going to get, I suppose. Take care, and don't work too late."

Jenny let out a long sigh when Mallory finally ducked out of her office. Her assistant meant well of course, but the confident blonde simply couldn't understand how difficult being alone with men was when shyness convinced a person they were permanently out of synch with the world around them. Everyone was swimming downstream, and she was the only one trying to stroke against the current.

Her attention refocused on the complaint document in order to make a notation that mediation would be cruel and unjust in this case. One couldn't expect the victim to sit in the same room with his abusers and make good faith efforts to mediate the case. As a matter of fact, she was also planning on filing a recommendation for a criminal case to be undertaken and placed on the DA's desk. Prosecuting Agents Barton and Romanoff for thumbing their nose at the law and denying Mister Grey due process would need to come directly from the DA's office to carry any weight against a government organization.

* * *

A/N: Hello there my lovely readers. First chapter of the new phase of my little story. I know I hinted that Natasha would be piled in wedding inspiration this chapter, but I had to push that back until next time. Getting into Jenny's head has been more difficult than I anticipated. As I understand it, Jenny herself is shy and meek while She-Hulk is confident and engaging, so I hope I can balance those two personas well. Much more to come, and new characters will be introduced. Bruce will drop by for a visit, and Natasha must adjust to having an old lover at Avengers Tower.

Next Chapter: Natasha Romanoff is overwhelmed with wedding stuff, and Jenny gets a phone call from Director Fury.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Clearly, I don't know what your aversion to color is, Natasha, when coral looks so lovely against your complexion," Pepper droned on while adding a swath of coral tulle to the pile of fabrics that had already been mounded in Natasha's arms.

For her part, Natasha was trying to be patient, but the lounge looked as though a wedding boutique had exploded. Swatches of cloth, packets of colored beads, and sample flower petals were strewn everywhere. Pepper fondly referred to the chaos as Wedding Inspiration. Well, Stark's fiancée could take her Wedding Inspiration and stick it where the sun didn't…

"Don't purse your lips at me, Romanoff. We're not sucking on lemons. We _are_ looking at fabric swatches for your maid of honor gown, and I happen to know you secretly enjoy fashion. Just tell me which you prefer."

Thwarted by Pepper's infernal friendliness. The woman seemed to have made a mission out of including her in wedding planning. "The saffron shantung silk."

Said swatch was placed against her shoulder. "See, you do enjoy these feminine fripperies. Don't mutter under your breath in Russian besmirching my mother's character; I know what that look means. You have good instincts too."

Natasha would have responded were it not for movement catching her peripheral vision. She turned enough to bring the intruder into focus, heart skipping several beats when she clapped eyes on the man she'd known as Yakov. The Winter Soldier. Sergeant James Barnes. Mrs. Rogers. Bucky. The pace of her heart slowly calmed as she went through the mental process of distancing herself from him. Few things had given her as much satisfaction as breaking open the cryo unit where he'd been frozen and finally freeing him from Russia.

"Agent Romanoff," he said, his tone coldly formal.

"Sergeant Barnes." She looked him from toes to hair in a single, sweeping glance meant to remind herself he was indeed there rather than being some death echo of the past. Rogers had finally caved and moved into Stark Tower, and since Rogers and Barnes had been inseparable since being reunited two months ago, he'd also moved in with the Starks.

"Bucky, how lovely to see you again," exclaimed Pepper.

"Miss Potts, I don't mean to intrude. Our coffeemaker had an accident-it's presently in several different pieces-this morning, and I wondered if we could borrow the one up here."

"Of course, Bucky. You're more than welcome to help yourself to anything on this level. May I inquire why your coffeemaker met an untimely end?"

As if suitable answer, he held up his metal hand, movement accompanied by a subtle mechanical whir of gears as he flexed his fingers.

"Oh," the other woman exclaimed. "Tony's working on a more durable model, I promise. Please, do help yourself."

Natasha was taken aback by the distinct pang of irritation when Pepper touched Bucky's real arm, her fingers needlessly caressing him in a manner more friendly than Tasha would have liked. What a silly response. Bucky and she had been an item decades ago while he'd been responsible for training her in the Black Widow program. She'd moved on with her life.

Despite her better judgment, she'd caved to the sexual and emotional temptation that was Clint Barton-what did it mean that the two men she had been most emotionally compromised by had last names so similar-and thrown herself into a torrid affair with the Avengers' resident sharpshooter. What did it mean that Barnes and Barton were both expert marksmen?

Her expression tightened with the inward turn of her thoughts as Pepper chatted with and escorted Bucky up the stairs into the kitchen to help him with the coffeemaker. She was, therefore, startled when the elevator dinged as it reached the lounge floor and slid open to allow Clint to step out. Also, this thing where she was so unfocused she allowed herself to be startled needed to be nipped in the bud.

"Tash…" Barton paused, lips twitching.

"Say one word, Barton. I dare you," Natasha ground out, distinctly aware his amusement stemmed from the explosion of color and fabric she was currently piled under. A brief thought made her wonder whether some universe-ending paradox would arise from Clint and Bucky being in the same room together.

Despite her warning, there was laughter in his voice when he said, "I wasn't going to say anything! You're…uh…looking rather colorful this morning."

"That was more than one word."

"Clint, don't stand in the doorway. Come in and make yourself comfortable," Pepper said from behind the kitchen island. "And don't tease Tasha about her current state. She's agreed to be my maid of honor, so I roped her into helping."

"Resist the temptation," Tasha muttered.

"Well, her code name is bucket of sunshine, after all. I never did thank Coulson for setting up your SHIELD email account."

"That was not resisting temptation."

"Barnes," Clint said, acknowledging the man with a nod of his head.

"Barton." Bucky's lips tightened.

"Since you're here, Clint, I need your measurements. Tony wants all his Avengers teammates to be included in the wedding, so we'll need to order your tux well in advance."

"Tomorrow afternoon," Clint said after breaking eye contact with Bucky. "Stark's already made an appointment with that Italian place that sells suits."

"Armani?" she asked.

"Yeah, but I need to steal Tasha for a bit. Found this in my locker down at Central. It's from Legal, which means we've been naughty little agents making more work for SHIELD lawyers. Again." He waved the manila envelope to indicate what he was talking about.

"Who now?" asked Tasha.

"Don't know yet."

"Miss Potts, can you…?" Tasha shifted, but the weight of fabric in her arms threw off her balance, and she ended up on her backside on the coffee table when she couldn't correct herself. "Laugh, Barton. I dare you."

Clint's lips twitched again, and he chuckled while ripping open the envelope to peruse the papers inside. His features didn't reveal what was going on in his head until the very end when he glanced away and shrugged as though the contents of said papers made no difference.

"Well, what is it?" Tasha asked.

"Nothing serious. Jennifer Walters attempted to submit a complaint through federal courts on behalf of Christian Grey. He wanted to sue us for gross negligence, assault, and unspecified punitive damages for violating his constitutional rights."

Pepper glanced over, and Tasha became even more steamed when she witnessed the woman's body tensing. Seeing Pepper's continued trauma caused anger to flare sharply through Natasha. The desire was strong to track the pervert down and dislocate the rest of his knuckles. And possibly several other joints as well.

"How is that something to be remotely nonchalant about?" Pepper asked, voice less than calm. "Creepy McStalkerson is trying to sue you for saving me from…" She didn't finish the statement and took a visible breath to restore control.

"Don't worry about us, Miss Potts. Tash and I have immunity from civil and criminal prosecution. Legal was just informing us they already presented the necessary documents to the court to have the case dissolved. See, no big deal."

* * *

"SHIELD operates under the jurisdiction of the United Nations. Your agents may technically be protected by personal immunity while operating inside the United States, but they were not acting under director orders from their commanding officers, Director," Jenny commented into her cell phone while seated at a small outdoor table of her favorite café.

"Doesn't change the fact their immunity covers them from civil and criminal matters. You're wasting your time trying to ram a lawsuit through the courts," Director Fury returned.

A frustrated breath stirred her bangs. "Your agents deprived my client of due process and handed out verdict and sentence outside of a court of law. We call that vigilante terrorism in my neck of the woods. Immunity from prosecution doesn't mean they get to do whatever they want without fear of repercussions."

"Do you understand what happened, Miss Walters? Mister Grey terrorized, stalked, assaulted, and attempted to rape Miss Potts. He proved time and again he was willing to overstep all legal boundaries to continue intimidating and bringing gross personal harm to her. I expected better of you."

"My friendliness with SHIELD aside, I cannot allow members of your organization to thumb their noses at the laws of this country. Even SHIELD must be held accountable. Especially SHIELD," she reiterated while glancing up at the waiter who emerged from the café with her hazelnut mocha latte and muffin.

"You and I both know certain people have a way of weaseling through cracks in the US justice system despite our best efforts to legally nail them. Look me in the eye and tell me Grey didn't get what he deserved and not an ounce more than he deserved."

"What I personally think doesn't matter."

"It always matters," the director interrupted.

Trembling fingers were clenched into a fist against the edge of the table, her breathing short as she fought for calm in the face of Director Fury's pressure. If her blood pressure were a pie chart, the whole pie would be turning from strawberry to green apple.

"Jenny, take deep breaths." Fury's voice softened as the cadence of his words evened.

The fluttering in her belly slowly eased as she went through the ritual of forcing her fingers to unclench and easing her muscles in stages. "I'm sorry, Director. I know you think I'm being terribly hypocritical, but thwarting the law is something I can't overlook. Eventually, I'll find a legal way of busting their chops."

"Do what you need to do, but promise me you'll watch yourself where Grey is concerned. He's trouble, and when you need a hand dissuading his attentions, I'll be sure to have Agents Romanoff and Barton available to help out. You know, those amoral agents who stand around thumbing their noses at the law."

"I think certain green-skinned alter egos can handle any trouble he might present," she responded. "But thank you for the concern."

Face was introduced to palm when she ended the call and dropped her phone on the tabletop. Director Fury's call hadn't taken her by surprise. She'd been waiting for contact from the director after her attempts to submit a complaint through the courts had been thwarted by Barton and Romanoff's personal immunity. Clearly, he expected her to drop the case just because Mister Grey had stalked and assaulted Miss Potts. While she highly disapproved of Grey's actions, smacking the director's proverbial wrist to remind him on which side of the law his agents had to operate was ultimately more important. A clear message needed to be sent, one that told the entire country there was no entity above the law.

She was startled when her phone chimed and grabbed it off the table to check the alarm. A green cleavage danced, jiggled, and bounced across the screen, causing Jenny's cheeks to heat as she darted furtive glances to those café patrons closest to her table as though expecting someone to have noticed the lewd display. Seconds later, her own voice emanated from the device. "This is your friendly She-Hulk tip of the day: Unbutton that top button, Jenny, and dance like there's no tomorrow."

Her face was hotter than the center of the sun when she acknowledged the alarm. Could a black hole open at her feet and suck her into a land of isolation so she could escape the embarrassment? While she was conscious of her surroundings and actions as She-Hulk, and while she enjoyed everything life had to offer whenever her green alter ego took over, she always felt differently upon returning to plain old Jenny Walters.

"Miss Walters, what a lovely and unexpected surprise seeing you here," Mister Grey, who was suddenly looming across the table, said.

A terrible gasp jerked into her lungs, fingers clutching at the edge of the table in a death-grip from the startle she received. That tended to happen when people who were supposed to be on a flight back to Seattle were suddenly helping themselves to chairs that hadn't been offered. Breathing exercises helped her distance herself from the shock and staved off She-Hulk's introduction to Christian Grey.

Anxiety twisted her insides when Christian did a double-take, the man leaning forward slightly upon his second look, and Jenny was briefly afraid her eyes were turning green. After a startle like that, she wouldn't have been surprised. However, he must have been satisfied with his second look, because he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.

"Mister Grey, what are you doing here? I thought you'd returned to Seattle. There's been a delay in the case, and it could be a substantial amount of time before we're able to move forward. My office will contact you when your presence is required."

"Upon second consideration, I decided to remain in New York until the matter has been concluded. Besides, how could I miss such a lovely sight as this." A sweep of his hand seemed to indicate her and was accompanied by a dazzling smile.

Something south of her navel responded to his suave charm. She-Hulk probably would have taken him up on what seemed to be an invitation, but she was Jennifer Walters, so she responded, "Thank you, Mister Grey, but our relationship is strictly professional."

"Life is not all about work, my dear. Sometimes, we must make room for pleasure." He leaned forward as though preparing to share a secret. "When was the last time you allowed yourself to really enjoy the baser indulgences of life?"

"You're my client. The level of inappropriateness doesn't bear thinking about if we were to breach the boundaries of professionalism."

"Then clearly I should fire you in order to receive satisfaction."

"I'll give you satisfaction." A glance dropped to her cell phone and the message She-Hulk had left for her, but any desires chickened out long before they could be voiced, and she ended up saying, "Your satisfaction will come in the courtroom when Agents Romanoff and Barton are held accountable for their crimes."

_He's a stalker,_ she chanted to herself. _He's attractive and has a penis,_ her inner She-Hulk responded. _So does Tony Stark, but we don't want to jump on his penis,_ she returned. _Speak for yourself,_ her inner She-Hulk countered.

"Miss Walters, are you feeling all right?"

Before she could respond, Christian's cell phone chimed, and he snapped into a rigid posture. A bubble bursting would have been less instantaneous than the sudden shift of his mood. Gone was the charming man. In its place was some creature of cool efficiency as he answered his call and spoke to the caller in harsh, authoritative tones. Not even her cousin could pull off that profound of a mood change when he shifted from Bruce Banner, mild mannered scientist, to Hulk. It left her momentarily reeling.

* * *

A:N: Whew! Thanks again to the lovely reviewer who reminded me about pesky things like immunity from prosecution. I had to scramble to make some changes taking that into account, but this will be a better story as a result. As always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I don't always get the chance to personally respond, but I always appreciate hearing everyone's thoughts.

Next Chapter: Jenny wonders if Christian Grey has even read _Tess of the D'Ubervilles, _and Bucky Barnes has a_ Princess Bride _moment.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Jenny, a package arrived for you via private courier," Mallory said later that afternoon when Jenny returned to the office from a deposition. "And don't forget drinks and dancing tomorrow night. I'll be cross if you back out at the last minute."

"Tomorrow night just isn't a good time for me. I have a backlog of cases, and there's a pile of research waiting for me. Can I take a rain…" Her comment trailed off when Mallory gave her the stink eye. "Drinks and dancing it is."

Receiving packages from private couriers wasn't so unusual in the law business that she took note, so she accepted the small box along with a stack of mail and a list of calls before heading into her office. Grace nearly deserted her upon wobbling on the snakeskin heels She-Hulk had abandoned in the middle of her bathroom floor, but she saved herself from another spill across her carpet by flailing her arms. In the end, the package was deposited on her desk, and she promptly blocked out the world in favor of diving into a wealth of case histories in search of something to prop up a thin defense for a member of the Silvermane family. Because staying on the right side of the law was just too much trouble for some people.

Completely engrossed, she didn't realize the passage of time until pausing to press her fingers against her tired eyes and noticing long shadows stretching across her office. The sun sank below the city skyline and muted the vibrant green rug in the center of the room. Her head jerked back as though just seeing it. When had that gotten there? Fuzzy memories were recalled of She-Hulk-no, no this was definitely a "she" moment in that she had dragged the rug into her office regardless of her skin color at that particular time: trying to remain separate from She-Hulk was becoming increasingly difficult-dragging it into their office last night while giggling about cheering herself up when forced to return to being drab little Jenny.

Voices from her assistant's office outside drifted through the open door, dragging Jenny from her thoughts and lighting up a bright smile. Having kicked off her heels long ago, she was barefoot when she jumped from her chair and dashed over to fling herself into Bruce's embrace when her cousin padded inside unannounced. He'd been out of town for so long following the Chitauri attack she'd despaired of ever seeing him again.

"Bruce, why didn't you call and say you were in town?" she exclaimed while squeezing him as tightly as she could manage.

His tone was warm when he pulled her in for a bear-hug. "I wanted to surprise you."

"You succeeded beyond your wildest dreams!" She stepped back to give him a good once over, but her cousin looked whole and healthy. Bruce and his tweed jackets and purple shirts. A fond smile as she remembered threatening to burn his collection of purple button-downs and she stepped into his embrace again. "Where've you been? How have you been? Stark said you stopped by his place briefly to elicit his help during an Ebola crisis in Africa."

"After the attack on New York and," there was a brief pause, and his tone softened before he continued, "the other guy was unleashed, I needed time to sort out how I felt. But yes, I've been in Africa. They desperately need all the medical intervention they can get."

"Oh Bruce, your relationship with Hulk doesn't have to be so difficult. The transition doesn't have to be so profound. We were…" Jenny paused and then corrected herself. "She-Hulk was savage too the first few weeks after the transfusion, but the more I accept her, the calmer we become, the more in control we become. If you could make peace with that part of yourself, you wouldn't be so afraid."

Her cousin paused, brow tightening until all the fine winkles were emphasized around his eyes. She didn't doubt for a moment he was remembering how She-Hulk had come about, his part in, as Bruce would say, "consigning her to a life of misery."

"Stop," she said emphatically while clasping hold of his hand. "You _saved_ my life. Not for one millisecond would I rather have died than to share my life with She-Hulk. I wish with all my heart I could make you believe that."

"Saved it? Jenny, I've damned you to a life of having no control over yourself and your own anger. I may have begun the process of making peace with the other guy, but my biggest regret will always be what I've done to you."

"Done to me?" Irritation and frustration flared sharply in her expression, and she mock-slapped his arm. "Bruce, you are so infuriating sometimes! And stubborn too. The only thing you've done to me was give me the opportunity to really live."

His hands were held up in the universal sign of surrender, and he stepped back momentarily. "I didn't come to argue." And then he abruptly changed the subject when he said, "Natasha and Clint are good people. They don't deserve to be painted otherwise."

Anger made her breathing shallow, and she was forced to retreat to the opposite side of her desk, tone much more forbidding. "Oh, I see how this works. See, you should have told me you were here on business when you first arrived, and we could have skipped that whole pesky emotional thing we just went through. You've come to talk me into dropping the suit against Romanoff and Barton."

"Don't take me the wrong way. Of course I wanted to see you. I just don't think you have the whole story regarding your client. He's bad news. After what he did to Miss Potts…" Green encircled his pupils. "She's still not fully recovered her sense of security with the world."

"This isn't about Miss Potts. If she'd like to file her own suit against him, I will gladly recommend a qualified attorney and secretly cheer that she nails his backside to a wall. This is about SHIELD agents thumbing their noses at the constitution. That is unacceptable."

Absently, she grabbed up the small box delivered that afternoon and upended it, letting it slide through her fingers to knock against her opposite palm, and then turned it again to repeat said process. Somehow the action was soothing."

"Maybe their methods weren't completely legal, but we both know they dispensed justice and saved an innocent woman from something terrible. Sometimes bad people worm themselves through loopholes simply because they have money."

"You're starting to sound like Director Fury."

"Not normally a compliment, but in this case, we agree. Jenny, he tried to rape her. If I'd gotten there before Clint and Natasha," her cousin began, forced to take a breath before continuing. "You'd be prosecuting me for murder. Think about that and then tell me this case doesn't belong in some gray area of the law."

"If you'd been responsible for dealing with Christian Grey in the moment, I would recuse myself from the case, and we wouldn't be having this discussion." She allowed the weight of the box to flip it between her fingers and slide down against her palm again out of some pathological need to fidget in order to keep her blood pressure stable.

"What is that?" he asked while dropping his eyes to the package.

His question made her aware of her actions. "Just something that was delivered this afternoon. I forgot it was here." Since she was thinking about it, she tore open the brown paper wrapping and opened the lid. Inside, she discovered a car key. The Audi logo was emblazoned upon the base of the key. A note accompanied it. "I will be unto you as Alec is unto Tess. G"

"Something's wrong?" Bruce asked.

"Someone sent me a car key." She held up the key and continued, "and said person has apparently never read _Tess of the d'Ubervilles_ before. Alec seduced Tess, impregnated her, talked her into being his mistress, and then she killed him. Not the kind of romantic sentiment you want to convey when sending someone a car."

* * *

"Stuff a sock in it. I'll be there in ten," Natasha said into her cell phone while barreling down the hallway from one of the numerous labs in Avengers Tower. She was in such a rush she wasn't watching where she was going and almost face-planted against Bucky's chest when he turned a corner and was suddenly in front of her. Decades of training saved her from becoming a proverbial bug on a windshield, but she was so off kilter from slamming on the brakes Bucky's intervention was required.

"Eyes on the road, Nat," he said while clasping hold of her upper arm to prevent her from losing her balance during the recoil.

For one breathless moment, Natasha's glance dropped to his lips. Desire she'd long thought dead sparked to life upon remembering how passionate their affair had been so many decades ago, but her expression hardened again. A twist of her arm extricated herself from his grip. "Sorry. Pepper's had me so occupied with wedding stuff I lost track of the time."

His grip immediately released, and he put distance between them with a hasty step back. "Funny how someone as open and welcoming as Pepper doesn't seem to have many friends able or willing to help her with the girly parts of a wedding."

"She spends most of her time working and doesn't have opportunities for social interactions." A brief pause interrupted her comment before she continued, "Look, I don't have time to stay and chat right now, but we need to talk."

"Talk?" he repeated flatly. "I only have one question that needs clarification. How long was it between you leaving me in Russia and hooking up with Barton? Did you wait a whole week, or was it one of those love at first sight deals where you rode off into the sunset with him while your lover was being cryogenically frozen?"

"You're not the Dread Pirate Roberts."

Confusion tightened his expression. "What?"

"Sorry, you missed that movie and can't understand the cultural reference. Your comment isn't fair. I had a way out, so I took it. Leaving you behind was the hardest thing I've ever done, but it was either leave you and come back when I could or get us both killed," she said, voice barely audible.

Bucky's lips hardened, eyes blazing for a few heartbeats before his features relaxed as he worked something out in his head. "Do be certain to warn Barnes what he's in for ahead of time. They don't call you the Black Widow for no reason."

There was no hiding the sting his comment caused. "Yeah? Because you've been nominated for sainthood. Look, I have to go. Something of an emergency came up that needs to be dealt with immediately. We'll talk about this when I get back."

"A situation can't be 'something of an emergency.' It either is an emergency or isn't. But whatever. There's nothing to talk about now that you're with the canary. Anything we had was strangled, shot, and buried back in Russia."

"It wasn't like that, and you know it." Her ringtone, a short clip of Flogging Molly's Drunken Lullabies, blasted in the brief silence. "I have to go, but we need to settle this."

"Go. Wouldn't want to keep Hummingbird waiting."

"Bucky…" Her comment was interrupted when the ringtone repeated. "You're angry, and I get that, but…" She was interrupted again. "I'll be back tomorrow morning."

"You don't live here in the tower?"

"No. Leastwise not yet." Tasha stepped aboard the elevator, and by the time she selected the private parking garage, her expression was flat when she gave him a final once-over.

Leaving him standing in the hallway so obviously upset was difficult, but she didn't have a choice. Bruce had called Barton and her babbling something about his cousin having received a cryptic message referencing _Tess of the D'ubervilles_. Looked like Grey was turning into a serial stalker, and Thomas Hardy had been selected as his calling card. Because obviously she'd woken up that morning and decided to star in the next Criminal Minds episode. May she die a thousand deaths and be cursed to spend the afterlife wearing a lime green tutu for not having killed Creepy McAbuser when she had the chance.

Like a bad train wreck that kept playing over and over, her mind returned to Bucky. Knowing some of what he was going through; the confusion, anger, and uncertainty while trying to readjust to life outside of the Winter Soldier program; meant she wanted to do everything in her power to ease him into his new life with SHIELD. Bucky would always be a part of her. They had helped each other through numerous rough patches, but she hadn't expected to experience the jolt of longing upon seeing him again. She was with Clint now. He didn't deserve to be tied up in her emotional baggage with a former lover.

When the doors slid open granting her access to the private parking garage and workshop where Tony's newest collection of cars was taking shape, she darted from the lift and over to the SHIELD issue sedan Clint was standing beside. He was rhythmically twirling keys around his finger and arched a brow upon her approach.

"Sorry," she said. "I got held up."

"Pepper need help picking out lace for the tablecloths and little pink frilly things to wear in your hair?" he asked with a decided smirk.

"One time," she groaned. "You caught me helping her sort sparkly things one time, and you're never going to let me live it down."

"Tash, you had glittery heart stickers on your face and bubblegum pink gems glued to your knuckles."

"It was Pepper's fault!"

"Convenient excuse." He paused, glance narrowing as he looked at her. "You okay?"

"Of course. Let's just get this over with."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all the suggestions and pointers about She-Hulk. Trying to get into her head has been way more difficult than Pepper. I hope everyone continues to enjoy this.

Next Chapter: Christian McStalker earns his nickname, and Bruce reminds Clintasha he's not a pregnant woman, and they're not his Lamaze coaches.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Music pulsed through Jenny's body, forcing her to unconsciously bob to the beat spilling out of the bar's juke box. A singer was mumbling something about wobbling repeatedly, but she couldn't clearly hear over the throng of people laughing and chattering. Between law school, her parents being murdered, and She-Hulk, there hadn't been time to enjoy a personal life of her own, so being out among people was disconcerting.

Her cell phone was suddenly chiming a reminder. There was something akin to embarrassment making her face hot when she checked the alarm, because the last alarm she'd received had been courtesy of She-Hulk. "This is your friendly She-Hulk tip of the day: Smile, Jenny. We're beautiful when we smile. Oh, and if you aren't dancing with the girls from the office, I will end Mister Piggles." She-Hulk held her ratty stuffed pig in front of the camera. Her mother had given her the stuffed animal for her first day of kindergarten to ease separation anxiety, and Jenny still cherished it, even more so after her mother had been killed. She-Hulk was part of her. Surely she wouldn't actually destroy such a sentimental object just because she was Jenny hopped up on lack of inhibitions. Would she?

People were dancing and laughing and tossing back shots at an alarming rate, and part of Jenny just felt like she was on the outs. Again. Getting drunk was impossible or at least had proved impossible thus far. The thought came as she swirled a shot of Makers Mark around in a shot glass. Her metabolism burned so quickly because of the gamma irradiated cells that alcohol had little effect. If she downed enough shots in a small enough time frame, she could tie on a buzz, but full on slobbering drunk? That was beyond her body's capabilities apparently. She'd joined an elite club of people who regretted not being able to get drunk.

The warm trail from her mouth to her stomach left from the Makers Mark was just beginning to cool when Mallory dragged her onto the dance floor. All attempts to slink away before her status as the world's worst dancer could be revealed were thwarted, at which point, she found herself sandwiched in between Mallory and Rebecca-she was a freshman lawyer at the firm-and being guided through the Cupid Shuffle. Thankfully, she wasn't so socially awkward as to demand to know why Cupid was shuffling anywhere. What if he wanted to strut or sashay or glide? She found the steps awkward the first few passes and was then able to pick them up and move in synch with the rest of the girls to avoid sticking out like a sore thumb.

Some song in which the male singer was demanding to know what was up in New York and Miami had just begun when Claire, one of the paralegals, bounced over to join them with several generously sized syringes full of some kind of alcohol-laden gel. Jello Injectors, she thought they were called. Jenny had this thing where she despised drinking after people, but after the numerous shots and cocktails, having the syringe crammed in her mouth after Mallory had taken a squirt didn't bother her so much anymore. This was something like how she felt when she was She-Hulk, the lack of inhibitions, the forgetfulness about pesky things like consequences, the desire to fuel her adrenaline until her heart was slamming against her breastbone and her veins filled with fire and excitement.

Suffice it to say, Jenny wasn't so reluctant to be liberally plied with alcohol once they'd liquored her up and made her forget about feeling like the center of attention. Between the shots, the dancing, and the jovial atmosphere, she found herself loose enough as to be having a fantastic time, which was suddenly threatened when her ever present phone shrieked its displeasure. Stepping outside into the cool night air, she answered.

"Jennifer, what do you think you're doing?"

"Pardon?"

"You've left the safety of your group of friends to step outside a very public bar. There are men present who would love nothing more than take advantage of your inebriated condition," hissed Christian. His tone bordered on furious.

Laughing, she leaned up against the side of the building. "You don't have to worry about me, Sugar." Wait? Why was she calling him sugar?

"Of course I'm worried about you!" he shouted. "How recklessly irresponsible do you have to be to place yourself in this kind of danger. Stay where you are, and I'll retrieve you."

Jennifer's mind finally caught up with the conversation as the cool air drastically reduced her level of tipsiness to a more manageable state, and she glanced in all directions. The situation sharpened into pristine clarity: Mister Grey was watching her. Her voice was breathless when she asked, "How do you know where I am and that I'm standing outside a bar?"

"That doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. Christian, are you spying on me?"

A series of events happened then that her alcohol-saturated brain had to fight to keep up with. Several men came out of the nearby ally laughing and trying to get physical with her. One man grabbed her ass while a second attempted to back her up against the chest of Ass Graber to pin her between them. About the time when she started feeling a flood of adrenaline pumping through her veins, a car came zooming up to the curb, tires squealing when it ground to a stop. Christian Grey emerged from the driver's seat wearing an infuriated expression.

Overwhelmed by the rapid fire series of events, she ended up shoving the man in front of her. As just plain Jenny, she couldn't muster enough strength to do any real damage, but She-Hulk was right there on the verge of taking over, so upon slugging Ass Grabber, there was enough force behind the blow to fling him backwards into the wall where blood streamed from his nose. Trembling, she clenched her teeth while whipping around to look at Christian. The fact that he was a stalker and an attempted rapist didn't seem to matter much anymore.

Christian suddenly grabbed hold of her arm to yank her out of the knot of people, pulling her away from them and toward the car he'd materialized from. He shouted, "How could you be so stupid, Jennifer?! You could have been raped or killed!"

"Christian, it's not like…"

"Don't even speak to me right now. God, I could put you over my knee and beat some sense into you for being so careless!" And then he gave her a firm push toward the passenger side door of his vehicle in an effort to physically make her get in the car.

That was it. His physicality sent her over the edge. With a cry of distress, she jerked her arm free of his and stumbled backward, morphing right there on the city sidewalk, body expanding until her clothing was stretched to the breaking point, skin flushing green.

The shock in Christian's expression, the way he sidled toward his car and seemed to be caught in between curiosity and the desire to flee prompted She-Hulk to laugh. Gone was any sense of fear or awareness of the situation. What had she to fear from any human? He wasn't physically a match for her.

"Well, are you going to stand there gaping, or are you going to invite me back to your place for a nightcap?"

* * *

"Bruce, breathe," intoned Clint in what Natasha knew to be his calmest, most patient voice, the one he reserved for dealing with her whenever something triggered a memory of the Red Room and the subsequent missions she'd been dispatched on.

"I _am_ breathing," their teammate returned.

"Breathe slower."

"I'm not a pregnant woman, and you're not my Lamaze coach!" Bruce growled emphatically, his tone different, slightly rougher, than normal.

Tasha rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and shoved her hip against Clint's to move him out of the way, at which point, she settled a hand on Bruce's back. "Don't listen to him. Bruce, Jenny's going to be fine. She's a big girl, and She-Hulk knows how to take care of them. You, on the other hand, need to chill out and tell us what's going on."

Bracing his hands on his knees, Doctor Banner dragged in several deep breaths in an obvious attempt to calm himself and stave off Hulk's seemingly imminent arrival. He thrust a phone in the air. "Jenny's phone. I found it perched precariously next to the drain. Her friends from the office called. They said she'd disappeared from the bar."

"Okay, that's a good start." Tasha took the phone from Bruce and started flipping through its contents to find clues as to what may have happened. "Her phone isn't even password protected." The latter was muttered in disbelief.

"When I arrived, there were injured men. The paramedics were cleaning them up, and they claimed some body-building broad knocked them around before turning green and taking off with a stranger. If anything's happened to her…"

"Hey, Big Guy, nothing's going to happen to her. Have you seen Jenny lately? She turns into She-Hulk, and she's one scary lady. There aren't a lot of guys who would get away with attempting to take advantage of her," Clint said.

Tasha put their conversation on the back burner while searching for clues. There were several reminders on Jenny's calendar all corresponding with short video files stored on the phone's memory card. Accessing tomorrow's file caused Natasha to smile when a clip of She-Hulk played in which the green-skinned Amazon modeled a bikini. A green butt waggled back and forth in front of the camera. "This is your friendly She-Hulk tip of the day: Shake our ass like we've got nothing to lose, because we're a goddess, Jenny."

A particular file buried inside the settings folder caught her attention. The date of creation seemed out of place with the rest of the contents of the folder, so she pulled a copy of it into an email and buzzed Stark's phone on a Skype line while Clint worked on getting Bruce calmed down. When Tony finally answered, he looked disheveled and damp as though having come from a shower. The soft glow of the arc reactor bled through a thin White Snake shirt.

"Somebody better be on fire," Tony grumbled. "Oh, something is on fire. Your hair."

"You're not as funny as you think you are."

"What are you talking about? I'm George Carlin funny. What's up, Red?"

"Jennifer Walters has disappeared under suspicious circumstances. I need you to take a look at a file I pulled off her phone and tell me what you think. Sending now."

"That Bruce in the background? What are you doing to my science boyfriend?" he asked.

"Barton's with him."

"So he's cheating on me with Legolas. I'm hurt, Brucie. You cut me to the bone."

"Could you not be sarcastic for five minutes? This is serious."

"Serious as a heart attack?"

"Serious as Christian Grey."

Tony's humor slammed into a brick wall. "Oh. I'll lock onto the GPS in your phone and be there in ten minutes."

"We don't need backup. Just tell me what the file is."

"Right. You know, every Avengers Tower apartment comes standard with a Stark Tech cell phone, which operates at a faster speed than SHIELD issue. And, you know, is guaranteed to be free of monitoring software." There was a soft ding from Tony's end of the connection when the file transfer completed.

"Because I can't wait to be woken up at three in the morning with your laughing face on my phone screen." She narrowed her glance. "You would totally pull a Dennis Nedry."

Tony sniffled. "You made a Jurassic Park crack. I'm so proud. My little baby's all grown up and being Starkastic."

Natasha was a trained spy and a master at controlling her emotional responses to a given set of stimuli, but she was laughing on the inside. "The file, Stark."

Clearing his throat, Tony shifted his screen to take a look at the file. "Looks like your basic tracking bundle; keylogger, a trojan that allows remote networking to the phone's memory card, and a hack to access GPS. Someone installed the file to keep an eye on Miss Walters and know her exact whereabouts. In other words, Grey is being a creepy slime ball again."

"How would something like this get on her phone to begin with?"

"Like any standard virus? Stalker McDouchenozzle got hold of her phone and downloaded it himself or buried it inside a cover file and tricked her into downloading it. I say again, I can lock onto your GPS and be there in ten minutes."

"Thanks, but we can handle this ourselves for now."

"What part of that statement made it sound like I was asking for permission? Douchenozzle McFlounder-Faced-Psycho hurt Pepper. He's going to get what's coming to him."

"Yeah, he is, but you're not going to be the one to give it to him for a variety of reasons up to and including keeping your name out of the media spotlight if this thing goes viral."

"You think I give a damn what the media says about me?"

"No, but you give a damn what they say about Pepper. You think for even a nanosecond they won't put what this bastard did to her in print if it gets out?"

"Point."

"Let us handle this. And stop changing your damned mind about the main course for the reception so Pepper can stop pulling her damned hair out." Her comment was followed by Russian muttering she didn't expect most people to be able to translate.

"My mother was not a five-legged aardvark, and she certainly didn't have sex with a three-eyed spotted owl," Tony responded.

Tasha's eyes narrowed, because of-bloody-course Tony Stark could speak Russian. She snapped, "Bruce will be en route to Avengers Tower shortly. Keep an eye on him."

"Will do, Princess."

Natasha shuddered, lips tightening into a thin line. "Don't call me princess."

"Why? You got something against tiaras?'

"Something like that."

* * *

A/N: Thanks bunches for reading. All comments are appreciated too.

Next Chapter: Christian Grey is a creepy creeper and the epic section in which Natasha Romanoff manages to use the word "vagina" seven times in a single comment.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Silver Lining: Being unable to really become inebriated meant she would never experience another hangover again no matter how tipsy she'd managed to get last night. Then why did she feel so terrible? Jenny groaned softly and draped her forearm across her eyes while silently attempting to unglue her tongue from the desert her mouth had become. What had she done last night? She remembered giving in to the terrible anger and confusion of the situation and being unable to prevent She-Hulk from coming to the forefront.

The events that had taken place after introducing Christian Grey to the wilder side of her personality were where things became blurred. She'd gotten in the car with him-_Mistake Number One, Shulkie,_ she pointed out to herself-and allowed him to drive her back to his hotel._ And Mistaken Number Two,_ she said. For a moment, Jenny had to raise her eyebrows in surprise. The man had been willing to get in a car with her. Shouldn't he have run screaming in the opposite direction after seeing his lawyer morph from a strawberry daiquiri into a kiwi surprise?

Color bloomed in her cheeks when she recalled flirting with him as She-Hulk upon their return to his hotel. Her feelings regarding Christian were entirely confusing. On the one hand, she abhorred what he'd done to Miss Potts. On the other, she found him remarkably charming and was entirely unused to men paying her that kind of attention. Unfortunately, the bolder She-Hulk had been having a grand time of it and had felt the situation was under control. Therefore, they didn't have to worry about pesky things like spending the night in a stalker's residence.

Had she-She-Hulk, she corrected in an effort to maintain some emotional distance-had sex with Christian Grey? Heart suddenly thundering, she jerked into a seated position so quickly she became lightheaded and had to press the heel of her palm against her temple. A desperate glance raked over her body. She was wearing his grey Henley that barely reached mid thigh, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and her panties. Her glance narrowed, but the bed didn't seem rumpled enough to have been the location of heated sex, and searching her memories, no matter how fuzzy they were, didn't result in anything more damning than a peck on the lips.

Piano music floated in through the open door, prompting Jenny to roll out of bed and search for her clothes. No dice. There was no sign of her phone either, but she vaguely remembered dropping it outside the bar last night. The thought of prancing through his hotel in one of his shirts that was too short to serve as proper coverage made color blossom in her cheeks again. If she were as brave as She-Hulk, maybe. Dragging the blanket off the bed, she wrapped it around her like armor and stepped out into the suite's main living space.

Christian was seated at a grand piano placed against the back wall and allowed her to see him in profile. The notes were sharp and staccato, a furious rhythm that had worked his body until sweat gleamed on his temple and rolled down the side of his throat. His lips were held in a tight line. Clearly, the man was caught up in memories that were deeply painful.

Jenny glanced toward the door, but what was she going to do? Slip out and wander through a hotel practically naked? Like that wouldn't wind up in the six o'clock news. No, her only option was to remain until she'd determined the whereabouts of her clothing. Fear and uncertainty made her tense, and she suddenly prayed for an ounce of the boldness she felt while prancing around as She-Hulk.

There was a frenetic whorl of notes, and Christian's fingers suddenly stilled on the keys. "Good morning, Jennifer. I trust you slept well."

She stopped in her tracks. "Where are my clothes?"

"No, your proper response should be 'Good morning, Christian. I slept remarkably well.' Would you like to try again?"

"This is me trying again. Where are my clothes, Mister Grey?"

There was something dark and forbidding in his expression when he spun around on the piano bench and fixed a look on her that sent shivers racing down her arms. "For someone brilliant enough to have obtained a law degree and successful practice at such an early age, you don't learn quickly, my dear. I will instruct you one more time. 'Good morning Christian. I slept remarkably well.'"

This ritual meant something to him, and that tingle of alarm increased three-fold. Better to cooperate until she'd discovered the whereabouts of her clothing than to ruffle his feathers even more. "Good morning, Christian. I slept remarkably well." Her voice was monotone.

"Much better. Come. You must eat before you waste away." The man rolled gracefully to his feet and padded over to a table where covered dishes were awaiting him. Pulling off a few covers from plates revealed various breakfast foods.

The scene sort of reminded her of the one in Pretty Woman where Richard Gere had ordered a variety off the breakfast menu for Julia Roberts, and Julia had eaten a pancake without plate or silverware, uncouth creature that she was. Was Jenny the only woman on the face of the planet who disliked that movie and thought Julia Roberts as charming as a fence post?

"Jennifer," Christian prompted.

"Thank you, but I'm not hungry," she finally said. "I'd like you to tell me where my clothes are, though."

"It wasn't a suggestion. You imbibed a great deal of alcohol last night on an empty stomach. You will eat now and drink enough to hydrate yourself again else the hangover will be worse than necessary."

Fresh alarm pooled in her gut. "How do you know I drank on an empty stomach?"

"That doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters," she spat with just enough of the fortitude she felt while She-Hulk to make her statement adamant. "How did you know I didn't eat last night?"

"You told me after you'd changed into your alter ego. Eat, Jennifer." His dark-chocolate-and-caramel-and-raspberry-and-milk-chocolate-mousse-and-key-lime-pie-and-rainbow-sherbert-and-gravy-and-buffalo-chicken-wing-and-hot-sauce-and-jalapeno-and-salsa-and-taco voice turned silky.

"If I eat, will you tell me where my clothes are?"

"Of course."

Jenny sidled toward the table, a burst of hunger causing her to have a very She-Hulk-esque response when food suddenly became more important than personal safety. She was famished after going so long without a meal. Because her metabolism burned at such a high rate, she found herself hungry more often, whether it be psychological-she wanted the comfort of eating because of the uncertainty of her ability to control her mood swings-or an actual bodily need, she didn't know. She groaned softly while biting into a plump strawberry.

"My clothes?"

"Do that again," he commanded. "You are incredibly sexy when you make that sound."

"My clothes," she repeated.

"I sent them off to be dry cleaned and took the liberty of having my body guard select some clothing for you. The ensemble is hanging inside the closet in the bedroom."

"That was awfully presumptuous of you, Mister Grey."

"Presumptuous? You are mine, Jennifer. I take care of what is mine."

Jenny froze in the process of reaching for another strawberry, eyes widening. Because the whole _"You're mine, and I take care of what is mine"_ shtick wasn't creepy at all.

* * *

Natasha recalled a rather ominous line delivered by Robert Muldoon during _Jurassic Park_ regarding the Velociraptors. _"When_ she_ looks at you, you can see she's working things out. That's why we have to feed them like this. She had them attacking the fences when the feeders came, but they never attacked the same place twice. They were testing the fences for weaknesses systematically. They remembered."_ Christian Grey remembered. He remembered crossing paths with her and was learning and adapting to his environment, which made him a much more dangerous predator this time around. Dread cramped her stomach when she realized Christian Grey was evolving from a compy to a velociraptor, and they desperately needed to neutralize him before he evolved into a T-Rex.

The natural course of his evolution involved procuring a security team, a member of which she could see loitering next to the elevator in the foyer of the Waldorf Astoria. Said team she now knew to be headed up by a man named Taylor. All her sources led her to believe that wasn't his real name, but she suspected he was ex-military. And possibly ex-CIA. At any rate, he wasn't some novice putz who allowed his employer to run around using very traceable credit cards to rent hotel rooms, so they had been forced to track Christian's rented Audi using traffic cameras. An image of the rental entering a parking garage had led them to the Waldof Astoria.

Further evidence of Taylor's non-putz status had been revealed when a rather unhelpful and surly front desk attendant had taken great pleasure in informing Natasha that all guest information, including room numbers and check-in status, was confidential. A warrant would be required to gain access to the files. While obtaining said warrant was doable, it could take hours on a Saturday morning, so locating Jenny's whereabouts would have to be done manually.

Tasha looked up from an iPad to study the people-most of the occupants were businessmen in town for various meetings-loitering inside the Waldorf's foyer. Her glance then turned to the windows to look out at the building across the street. Clint was perched in one of those windows with a pair of binoculars keeping an eye on the hotel and its surroundings in case Jenny and Grey emerged of their own volition.

Sound suddenly crackled uncomfortably in Natasha's ear and resulted in Clint's voice coming through muffled and unintelligible as he attempted to make contact via their communication devices. She adjusted the tiny speaker in her ear, careful to avoid the sleeve of her suit jacket riding up and risk revealing the knife strapped to her forearm. The device settled more comfortably, and the crackle cleared.

"Repeat," she whispered. Her microphone was affixed to the inside of her jacket collar.

"Barnes. There's some tension between the two of you, I think," Clint said.

"We really going to do this now?"

"Until Stark finishes hacking their software and gives us Grey's suite number, we don't have much better to do. He's had you on edge since he arrived."

"There is tension there," she admitted.

"You thinking of leaving me for Barnes?"

No one could accuse Clint Barton of beating around the bush. He was a man of few words, and she appreciated his habit of getting right to the point. Their present discussion also entailed more than a word or two, and because it would look funny to carry on a conversation with herself, she casually dug out a very business-like Blackberry. She held it against her ear to give the illusion she was making a call.

"Barnes and me have been over for a long time. Yeah, there's history between us. We were still a thing when they put him in the freezer that last time, and when he thawed out again, I wasn't there. There was never any official closure."

"You didn't answer my question."

"No, I'm not leaving you for Barnes."

"You still feel it, though."

"It's not like tha…"

"Just answer the question, Tash."

"Yes, but not the way you're thinking."

"But you still feel the spark."

Her tone became decidedly cross when she said, "See, I have this bodily organ called a brain which takes precedence to my vagina. Don't get me wrong. I love my vagina. I would never hurt my vagina. I would never, say, feed my vagina to a shark, but said vagina does not lead me around and cause me to leap on unsuspecting men simply because it's hungry. My vagina is not a lion. Or Hungry, Hungry Hippo."

"Guys, I'm on this line too," Stark suddenly interrupted.

Imaginary crickets chirped.

Stark continued, "But I will totally include that in the next Avengers newsletter. Breaking News: Agent Romanoff's vagina is not Hungry, Hungry Hippo!"

Somewhere in Arizona, a tumbling tumbleweed tumbled across a dusty, deserted road.

Tony snickered, "I wonder what would happen if this gets out to Anderson Cooper. In other news, famed member of the Avengers Initiative, Black Widow, proudly exclaims 'I love my vagina! I would never feed my vagina to a shark!' Feminism: One. Misogyny: Zero!"

Silence.

"I'm going to use that line on Pepper when she surfs the crimson tide next time and yowls 'I hate my vagina: I want a penis!' while balled up in bed with a heating pad. 'But honey, Tasha loves her vagina and would never feed her vagina to a shark!'" he commented.

More silence.

"Guys, conversations work better when there's more than one person taking part."

There was a rustle of clothing as someone moved.

Then the sound of Clint's laughter reverberated through her ear device, and it sounded as though he were having such a fit of guffaws as to be in danger of suffocating from lack of oxygen. The mental picture of Tony sitting behind his lab desk with a shit-eating grin almost melted Natasha into a puddle in her chair.

Face was planted against cell phone. "I hate you, Stark," she muttered.

"But I want you to feel about me the way you feel about your…"

"One more word, and I will end you."

Silence but for the sound of Clint wheezing from his continued laughter.

"That should totally be your super power," Stark said.

"What?"

"Leaping on the heads of unsuspecting men with your va.."

"You're a dead man. Run while you have the chance, because when I get back to Avengers Tower, you will breathe no more."

The proverbial bubble popped when the lift across the foyer dinged its arrival on the ground floor, and the doors swung open to reveal a wide-eyed Jennifer Walters hurrying out. Grey's security member stood at attention but made no move to restrain Jenny or take up pursuit when the woman moved away. She looked unharmed, and despite the obvious anxiety in her expression, she hadn't Shulked out.

"Target spotted. We're moving," Tasha intoned softly.

Rolling calmly to her feet, Agent Romanoff padded in Jenny's direction, taking up step behind the other woman to cover her exit from the building should the security member receive an order and shots were fired. Thankfully, shots weren't fired, and they stepped out into the breezy November morning where Jenny shouted for a cab, obviously unaware of Natasha's presence on the scene.

Everyone but Stark hesitated to startle one of their capable-of-going-green-comrades-they gave a new meaning to the term "going green"-when the results could be disastrous depending on their level of stress at the time, so Natasha pulled even with Jenny rather than grabbing her shoulder from behind.

"We have a car waiting to take you to your cousin, who is extremely worried about you."

Jenny jumped. Green was starting to flare across her irises when she looked over at Natasha, and then abject relief replaced her anxious expression.

"Thank God. I think my client is a creeper."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for being a little late. I usually try to upload every Sunday, but I just discovered a certain television show about zombies and had to watch the marathon. How did I miss this show for so long? People in my household stared at me funny when I almost died laughing writing this section.

Next Chapter: Clintasha confronts Buckygate. Bruce consoles Jenny.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Having just delivered Jennifer Walters to Bruce's private apartment in Avengers Tower, Natasha backtracked toward the elevator. Mere seconds after passing the doorway of one of the numerous darkened laboratories, a figured peeled itself out of the darkness to fall into step behind her. Shifting air currents resulting from sudden movement were what ultimately triggered her reaction. She dropped lower to the floor and spun in an attempt to get out of the direct line of attack which would foil any instant kill tactics. The assassin refused to retreat. His mass-the compact body was definitely male-encroached upon her rather than retreating, and she found herself forced onto the defensive and into a hasty retreat to keep distance between them.

The assassin was a sliver of a second faster. Her momentum was used against her, the mass of his body pressing inward and herding her into a deeper retreat. An automatic door swished open behind her, and she ended up backpedaling into the lab where she would be isolated away from the more high-traffic hallway where help might stumble upon them. Within seconds, she was pressed up against a wall with strong fingers curling around her throat.

Only one person was capable of rendering her in her present position so quickly and with so little effort. Breath panted into her lungs as both excitement and awareness bloomed throughout her body. "One of these days, my reaction time will be just fast enough to slide a blade through your trachea before I stop to question who's attacking, Clint."

"Until then, I intend to keep you on your toes, Agent Romanoff," he responded, his voice low and silky. The man's thigh forced its way between her legs and came into contact with the rapidly heating core of her sexuality.

"Because of course you've single-handedly decided to keep me in top form."

"Or punish you for still feeling that sexual spark with Sergeant Barnes."

"Then I should make you walk naked through a field of saw grass the next time you comment about how sexy you find Kristen Bell."

"Differences, Agent Romanoff; you should acknowledge them. I've never fucked Kristen Bell," he breathed while his fingers worked at the buttons holding her blouse closed.

"Perspective, Agent Barton; you need to change yours. Decades have passed since the last time I was with Barnes." Her breathing became erratic when he pulled the cup of her bra out of the way and chafed his palm over her breast, calluses roughing her nipple. Adrenaline was quickly bleeding into a different kind of heightened awareness.

"But you still feel it."

"Feeling it doesn't mean I'm going to act on it."

"He wants you."

"So you're going to punish me for not being able to control his emotional responses?"

"You are a master at manipulating people's emotional responses. Maybe that means you don't want to put him in his place," he whispered, his warm breath fanning across the side of her throat as he dropped his hand to her belt buckle.

Natasha moved suddenly, pushing her hips outward at the same time she twisted one of his fingers until he had to choose between moving and having his joint dislocated. She rolled them until he was pressed up against the wall and she was the one in the driver's seat. Fingers worked his belt open until she was granted access to the contents of his pants. A thrilling sensation spread warmth through her loins when his breath hitched in his throat.

"I'm not manipulating Sergeant Barnes. After everything he's been through, he deserves more respect than to be emotionally handled just to put your mind at ease."

"Respect me enough to tell me," he whispered in a sudden change of tactics and tone. Clint sounded almost resigned, as though an affair with Bucky was a foregone conclusion.

"Tell you what?" she asked before sucking on the lobe of his ear.

"If you decide Bucky's a better fit for you, respect me enough to tell me about it rather than running around behind my back."

Her mission to work Clint's pants down around his thighs entered a brief hiatus as she pulled back to really look at him through the gloom of the windowless lab, the interior only faintly lit by light streaming in through the glass door. "You're really concerned about this?"

Her lover didn't respond, merely shifted his glance to the side as though having trouble answering or feeling weak for owning up to his present insecurities.

"Bucky and me have been over for a long time." When he still didn't meet her glance, she caught his chin between thumb and forefinger and encouraged him to turn his head back toward her. "Clint, I'm not going to leave you for Bucky."

That finally prompted him to look at her again. "Don't pretend like my concern is groundless. You ran around behind my back after Russia. When I brought you to the Louisiana safe house and Agent Gotterung took over your deprogramming, I caught the two of you together. That's when I pulled back emotionally."

So they were going to be serious. Tasha stepped back to put distance between them, a muscle in her jaw working. It was her turn to look away from him. "Yeah, I slept with Agent Gotterung. He discovered that aspect of my programming. You know, use any means necessary up to and including manipulating enemy males through sex to preserve the conditioning I'd received in the Red Room. Gotterung stumbled upon the trigger for that particular aspect of my programming and manipulated it at will."

Silence.

"Clint…"

He forestalled her comment by pinning her with a glance. Intensity tightened his eyes. It was as though she could feel him trying to get inside her head, and there was no escaping his efforts no matter how desperately she sought to close off her emotions.

"Gotterung took advantage of you during your deprogramming?"

She shrugged in response.

"Tash…"

It was her turn to interrupt when she held up her hands for silence. "Don't make it more than what it was. And don't you dare apologize. You were operating on the information you had at the time. There was no way you could have known differently."

"I'm going to Hell, Tash," he said.

"God, I hope not. It's hot in Hell, and we Russian broads don't do well in that kind of heat. Wreaks havoc with my hair, and I end up looking like a flaming poof ball."

Her lover snorted softly, cupped the nape of her neck, and pulled her back in until their foreheads were pressed together, bodies flush. "So you won't leave me for Barnes."

"Not unless Barnes can offer me a better deal than Hell," she quipped while smirking.

"You'd really follow me to Hell?"

"You already followed me to Hell. It's only fair I take that leap for you."

A shuddering breath expanded her lungs and Clint suddenly pulled her in for a kiss while curling an arm around her waist and using said arm to spin her until she was pressed up against the wall again. The warmth of his tongue deepened the kiss. A soft sound escaped her control when he freed the button of her trousers and slipped his hand inside to remind her that certain types of heat were insanely pleasurable.

* * *

_To: WaltersJ-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com_

_Subject: Where are you?_

_Date: 11/3/12 12:17_

_You left so suddenly this morning without giving word of your leaving. This does not please me. Where are you, Jennifer?_

_Grey_

* * *

_To: WaltersJ-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com_

_Subject: WHERE ARE YOU?_

_Date: 11/3/12 2:23_

_I do not like being ignored. You will either answer me with coordinates to your present location, or I will be forced to use other means to locate you. What have you done with your cellular phone? And why are you not driving the Audi I purchased for you?_

_Grey_

* * *

_To: WaltersJ-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com_

_Subject: Seriously Angry_

_Date: 11/3/12 3:30_

_You don't want to make me any angrier than I already am, Jennifer. This is your last warning. Respond within the next half hour, or I will take you to Seattle into the Red Room of Pain and beat you until you cannot walk. You will receive no further warnings. I will not continue with these manipulative games of yours._

_Grey_

* * *

_To: WaltersJ-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com_

_Subject: Seriously Angry_

_Date: 11/3/12 3:40_

_Twenty minutes left to respond._

_Grey_

* * *

_To: WaltersJ-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com_

_Subject: Seriously Angry!_

_Date: 11/3/12 3:50_

_Ten minutes, Miss Walters._

_Grey_

* * *

_To: WaltersJ-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com_

_Subject: Seriously! Angry!_

_Date: 11/3/12 3:55_

_Five minutes remaining._

_Grey_

* * *

_To: WaltersJ-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com_

_Subject: Seriously! ANGRY!_

_Date: 11/3/12 3:57_

_Three minutes._

_Grey_

* * *

_To: WaltersJ-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com_

_Subject: SERIOUSLY! Angry!_

_Date: 11/3/12 3:58_

_Two_

_Grey_

* * *

_To: WaltersJ-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: fiftyshades-at-greymail-dot-com_

_Subject: SERIOUSLY! ANGRY!_

_Date: 11/3/12 3:59_

_One_

_Grey_

* * *

"I haven't seen you bite your cuticles in a decade, Jenny," Bruce said the evening of her escape from the Waldorf. His reflection in the floor to ceiling windows-the view of the city skyline was breathtaking-allowed her to see him padding in her direction with a cup of tea in hand. Said tea was deposited next to her elbow.

Seated at his desk, she clasped hold of the hand he settled on her shoulder. "I was just checking my emails in case there had been an emergency with one of my cases. Christian Grey has been trying to contact me since I left the Waldorf this morning."

"Do you believe us now when we say he's a creepy creeper?"

"I never disbelieved you, Bruce." She paused, finally prying off the piece of loose skin around her cuticles. "I suppose I didn't really understand the depths of his particular…"

"Insanity?" Bruce helpfully supplied.

"That's one word for it. He's threatening to abduct me to some place called the Red Room of Pain and to beat me until I can't walk."

"I'd like to see him try it."

"You'd have to line up behind me." Squeezing her eyes closed and pinching the bridge of her nose, she corrected herself. "She-Hulk. You would have to line up behind She-Hulk and take whatever scraps remained after she got done with him."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Differentiating between myself and She-Hulk is becoming more difficult. A part of me desperately wants to surrender all of Jenny, to allow Shulkie…" There was that nickname again, evidence of the gradual encroachment beyond the invisible divide she'd created between them. She continued, "To allow She-Hulk to take over. I would never have to live in fear or weighted down by shyness and insecurity."

"What I've done to you is unforgivable."

A sigh slipped quietly from her lungs, and she cupped her forehead. "Don't start that again, Bruce. Please." Jenny spun the chair around, clasped hold of his hands, and looked up into her cousin's soft, expressive eyes. "You saved my life. I would have died without that transfusion. I would have died without you there."

"Sometimes death is preferable to…"

She interrupted. "Don't ever let me hear you say that again. Wishing for death won't change your reality. You can sit around under a massive storm cloud for the rest of your life wishing a train would come along and flatten you or you can learn to accept Hulk. I fully believe you're capable of helping him comprehend the world around you if you would just accept that he's here to stay."

"You don't understand what it's like."

"Don't I? She-Hulk was every bit as savage during the first few months. The anger and desire to protect me took over, and she blindly lashed out at the world. I've woken up in alleys with no recollection as to how I got there or who I'd hurt. But then something happened. I started listening to her and her to me, and the blind rage started giving way to comprehension."

Bruce's expression melted to indicate that, for the moment, he believed her. Her cousin leaned down to tug her into an embrace. "We shouldn't spend so much time apart."

"Whose fault is that, Mister I Must Single Handedly Save Third World Nations?"

"Fair point. Well made, Miss Walters."

Jenny shuddered. "Oh God, don't say that. Christian Grey says that, and he sounds like a complete tool, like he's trying to sound British because it will somehow legitimize his wealth."

"So what are you going to do about your deranged client?"

"I can safely say he's not my client anymore."

"Does that mean you'll stop persisting to push a civil case through against Agents Romanoff and Barton?"

"The way they handled the situation wasn't legal. How am I supposed to overlook the law when I've been charged with defending the law?"

Bruce's sigh could only be described as long-suffering, and he pushed his shaggy hair back from his face. "Sometimes the law allows for shades of…"

"Don't finish that saying. 'Grey' should be stricken from the world's vocabulary, along with 'fifty,' 'shades,' 'beat,' and 'you are mine, I take care of what is mine.'"

"How would you like me to finish that saying?"

"With 'extenuating circumstances,'" she responded.

"But how would we describe the color of storm clouds?"

"Stormy."

"And Pepper's favorite sweater?"

"Peppery."

"And Christian's contact email address?"

"Forty-nine douches at creeper-mail dot com."

Bruce laughed until he was red in the face, a considerable amount of tension easing and allowing them to have a pleasant evening together. Dinner a few floors down in the communal lounge provided ample opportunity for her to be introduced to the rest of the Avengers Initiative, minus Thor Odinson and plus Sergeant Barnes. And somehow, Tony Stark managed to worm his way into sleeping on the sofa that night by twice asking to see if her boobs turned green and announcing they were certainly bigger than Pepper's.

* * *

A/N: More Clintasha for those of you who are fans!

Next Chapter: A quick little intermission entitled Christian Grey Vs. JARVIS.


	14. Intermission: Christian Grey Vs JARVIS

Intermission:

Christian Grey Versus JARVIS

The night was black; blacker than Christian's black, black, midnight-and-obsidian-and-ebony-and-onyx soul when Taylor and Christian came in for a soundless landing on the roof of Avengers Tower. Christian attempted to move away from Taylor the moment they had solid footing, but the tandem harness prevented him from immediately getting about his business. He had to stop long enough for Taylor to unhook them from each other before heading toward the door allowing workers access to the generators and air conditioning units located there.

No handle was placed on the outside of the door. A clear panel, a single knob affixed toward the bottom left corner, was mounted to the wall at chest level. Touching the knob caused the panel to flare to life, lighting up the gloom with shades of red. Two distinct buzzing sounds startled him into jumping back a couple of steps.

"You are not authorized to access Avengers Tower," intoned a voice speaking in a distinctly British accent.

"Of course I'm authorized," Christian returned. "Jennifer Walters is expecting me, but I forgot the access codes."

"Expected guests are welcome to enter via the lobby where security will show them up."

"Don't you know who I am? I'm Christian Grey. You will let me through."

"Charmed, I'm sure. But you are still not authorized to access this area. Please redirect your approach through the lobby."

Frustration simmered just beneath his clavicles, and he tossed a glance in Taylor's direction, who was crouched and packing his small parachute away. Unzipping a midnight case affixed to his belt, Christian pulled out a flash drive and inserted it into the USB port along the right side of the panel to link his data pad with the tower's security computer. He began running a hacking program attempting to circumvent Stark's passwords.

"What are you about, Mister Grey?" asked Jarvis.

"You will give me access to Jennifer whether you want to or not."

"Stop, that tickles."

"You're a computer. You can't tickle."

"My programming says otherwise. Retreat from this area, or I will contact Mister Stark to apprise him of the attempted break-in."

Christian's expression was rapidly heating toward furious when he glanced back over at Taylor. "Why isn't this working? My computer specialists said this was a failsafe hacking program. They said there wasn't a firewall in existence this couldn't crack."

"Don't look at me, Sir. I'm not a computer expert," Taylor responded. "We are, however, unacceptably exposed on this roof top, especially considering who lives in the tower. We should retreat and rethink our angle of penetration."

"Not after coming this far. This frustratingly absurd computer program will not stop me from reaching Jennifer. She's in grave danger in this tower. They'll brainwash her and turn her against me the same way they turned Virginia against me, and after my failed relationship with Anastasia, I don't think I could handle another disappointment."

Taylor didn't comment on Christian's relationship troubles, simply moved to the side of the roof and looked down toward the balcony and landing pad several floors below them. Tension straightened the man's spine. "Mister Stark can access this roof at a moment's notice. We should retreat to a safer location before the computer informs him of our presence."

"If I may interject," Jarvis drawled. "My security procedures are far more advanced than your hacking program. A new layer of firewalls comes online for every code your device unlocks. There is roughly a point two percent chance you will circumvent my security."

"Shut your mouth," snapped Christian.

"A curious command, Sir, as I have no mouth to shut. Neither am I authorized to obey verbal commands regarding security from anyone but Mister Stark and Miss Potts."

"There must be a way trough this door. Did you bring the charges, Taylor?"

"Only one man has ever successfully breached my numerous layers of security, and he is no longer amongst the living."

Christian jerked his head back around, surprised that a computerized voice could sound sad. "Who was this man?"

"Agent Phil Coulson."

"What an uncouth and very ordinary name."

The computer's voice registered something akin to annoyance when he said, "Mister Stark has been informed of your presence on the roof. Estimated time of arrival is five minutes and thirty-six seconds."

A glance full of longing was directed toward the door again while Jarvis continued counting down to Stark's arrival. No doubt, he would show up wearing that ridiculously conspicuous suit of armor. Breath hissing through his teeth, Christian grasped the flash drive with every intention of removing it but suddenly received a terrible jolt of electricity that caused his muscles to seize and dragged a yelp from him.

"I'm sorry, Mister Grey. Your hacking paraphernalia has been confiscated for evidence in a criminal investigation."

"Damn you, you terrible little worm!" he hissed and made a second attempt to remove the flash drive, which had his fingerprints smeared all over it. A second jolt of electricity felt stronger than the first.

"Oh dear, you networked this program with the rest of you computer systems?"

"What?"

"All your bases are belong to me. Sir."

Taylor suddenly grasped Christian's shoulder and moved him out of the way. His sidearm fired a single shot that shattered the terminal, leaving a smoking wreck behind, and then he stepped forward to yank the flash drive from its port.

"He was using the network link between your data pad and our home computers to hack into your own systems. Secondly, they could have used the fingerprints on the flash drive as evidence in an attempted burglary case against you. Sir, we have to go."

He allowed Taylor to grasp his elbow and guide him toward the edge of the roof before saying, "How do you intend to get us down from here?"

Within seconds, Taylor secured a grappling line from the roof of Avengers Tower to the much lower roof opposite them. Hooking their harnesses together again, he dropped their combined weight over the side of the building, and they zipped away just as Iron Man was emerging onto the landing pad. The gloom of New York at three in the morning swallowed them up and secured their escape, but Christian's scowl said he wasn't pleased. Not at all.

* * *

A/N: Frustrating Christian Grey is ridiculously amusing. Thanks bunches for reading and all your comments!

Next Chapter: Pepper convinces Tasha to move in. Pepper and Tasha confront Jenny.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"Stop scowling at me, Natasha," Pepper said before emptying a basket of sample flower petals on the coffee table in the lounge. "A wedding coordinator has finally been hired, so I won't be as reliant on your help anymore."

"You hired someone?" Tasha repeated flatly. Her lip curled up in something akin to disgust when she realized the idea displeased her instead of tickling her pink.

"Is that disappointment I hear in your tone, Agent Romanoff?"

She was quick to respond, "No, no of course it's not disappointment. This really isn't my area of expertise." A sweep of her hand indicated the items strewn across the coffee table.

"Then why are your lips pursed?"

"They're not pursed!" she exclaimed in such a rush even she thought the emphasis made her comment suspect. A moment of awkward silence passed. "Who did you hire?"

"David Tutera. His designs are very clean and classic. He'll be here this afternoon if you'd like to join us. You know, to get some hands on experience with design in case you'll find the information useful in a future covert operation."

"Maybe. I'll see if my schedule allows for a leisurely afternoon."

Accepting a bowl of petals the other woman pushed in her direction, she started finger-combing through them. Flowers were acceptable. Amidst all the sparkle, color, and fragrance on the table, the petals were one of the few things she didn't immediately balk at the idea of touching. They didn't make her feel sickeningly sweet or sappy.

Companionable silence infused the room as the pair sorted petals by color before a new topic of conversation arose. Pepper asked, "Why are you so reluctant to accept Tony's offer of permanent residency? You already spend a good portion of your day here either helping me or availing yourself of our superior computer labs."

"Clint and me are spies and assassins. We aren't used to being part of a family environment or depending on other people to fulfill some nameless emotional need."

"Believe it or not, I can relate to that sentiment. Working for Tony required long, long, super long hours, and before I knew it, I was so used to being alone or being with Tony that I'd forgotten what it was like to allow people into my life."

_"I know what that feels like"_ conversations usually annoyed Tasha to no end. They were generally a sign of patronizing or an attempt to render another person's emotions groundless. But there was something honest and genuine about Pepper's confession.

Tasha reached over to touch Pepper's hand as a way of saying there was something kindred about their experiences.

The other woman laughed softly and said, "This is where Tony would say 'We're having a moment, aren't we?' And I would respond with 'I'm having twelve percent of a moment.'"

She chuckled at Pepper's crack before asking, "Are you asking me to move in?"

"Yes. Wouldn't it be convenient? We could have pajama parties and pillow fights and sit around painting each other's toenails at three in the morning when we can't sleep and can't be bothered to listen to Tony and Clint snore next to us."

"Clint and I don't actually share an apartment," she corrected. "But imagine the snickers that would be exchanged if they walked in to find us exfoliating each other."

"Come and live here with us, Natasha. We want you to be a member of our family, you and Clint both, and we'll figure this whole emotional attachment thing out together."

"Could I move my things in by next week?"

"You could move your things in by this evening if you wanted."

Uncertainty caused her heart to pump faster than normal when she squeezed Pepper's hand and finally nodded. "I'll arrange a moving van by Tuesday."

Her agreement was very nearly rescinded when Pepper smiled fit to split her skull in half and leaned closer for a best-friend-cuddly-teddybears-hearts-candy-and-let's-paint-our-toenails hug. Panic infused her suddenly trembling limbs, but she pushed through the emotional response and hugged Pepper. Having friends and family would take some getting used to, but she believed in the Avengers Initiative. She believed in her teammates. If it would foster team spirit-Coulson had died in the name of team spirit-she was willing to try.

When the hug came to its natural conclusion, she went back to sorting through the flower petals, occasionally pausing to settle a petal next to a pile of gemstones to see how the colors looked together, until their bowls were nearly empty. Their previous topic of conversation was returned to when Tasha asked, "Doesn't David Tutera have a wedding show on TLC?"

Her new friend-getting used to referring to Pepper thusly would also take some getting used to-smirked. There was a decided Ah-ha! look on the woman's face when she said, "Why Agent Romanoff, are you a closet fan of girly froo froo things?"

"No!"

"You are, aren't you! Come now, Natasha, you don't have to hide behind your wall of plausible deniability when you're among friends." Pepper's hand came to rest over Natasha's just as the elevator dinged its arrival.

A denial was perched on Tasha's lips when the elevator doors opened, allowing Jenny to step foot in the lounge.

* * *

"Is it true Christian Grey attempted to break in overnight?" Jenny asked when she spotted Agent Romanoff and Miss Potts sitting on the floor by the coffee table.

Their responses to the question were vastly dissimilar, Jenny noted. Agent Romanoff's expression blanked only to be followed up with a downturn of her lips. Miss Potts' eyes widened, and she crushed a delicate flower petal in her hand when said hand was clenched.

"He tried to break in? Natasha, did Christian 'McCreeper' Grey attempt to break into this building last night? And why didn't you tell me?"

"Thanks for that, Miss Walters," Tasha snapped.

"I didn't…" How could she have been so insensitive? Miss Potts had been victimized by Mister Grey. Hearing that he'd attempted to break into her home wouldn't go very far in making Miss Potts feel comfortable and safe in her own environment. "I'm sorry, Miss Potts. If it's any consolation, I think I was his target rather than you."

"No, you're fine. Believe me, I would rather know his whereabouts than to be cosseted. At least knowing what he's up to means I can be armed. I have a new pair of Jimmy Choo's itching to get to know his face."

Jenny's expression softened. "That sounds like something I would…" Her comment stopped mid-sentence, and she audibly sighed. "That sounds like something She-Hulk would do and then giggle over for an hour afterwards."

Both women were looking at her as though they didn't know what to make of her behavior._ She_ didn't know what to make of her behavior anymore, having woken up that morning already Shulked out when there hadn't been any stimuli leading up to the event.

"Can you confirm his attempted break-in, Agent Romanoff?" she asked.

"Yes. He attempted to gain access to the tower via the roof but wasn't able to breach Jarvis' security measures."

Pepper visibly deflated and then asked, "Has he given you a contract yet, Miss Walters?"

"Please, you can call me Jenny. What contract do you mean? We signed a contract agreeing that I would represent him in his lawsuit against Agents Romanoff and Barton."

"No, it would have been a BDSM contract."

"A what?"

"Bondage and Discipline, Dominance and Submission…"

"I know what BDSM means, Agent Romanoff. He actually gave you a contract governing a BDSM relationship? You know those things aren't legally binding, right?"

"Yes, I'm aware. Speaking of contracts, yours with Mister Grey had a clause allowing the dissolution of your working relationship should his behavior become inappropriate, right?"

"The American Bar Association has a ruling that attorneys cannot enter into an intimate relationship with their clients unless said relationship began before an agreement of representation was drafted. Mister Grey's attempts to woo me into a sexual relationship would put me in danger of being disbarred. He is, therefore, no longer my client. I've already had my office send out the necessary notices."

"What does that mean regarding your attempt at filing against Agents Romanoff and Barton?" Pepper asked.

"It means Mister Grey will have to find another lawyer if he wishes to continue a civil suit against them, and I will be forced to recuse myself from any criminal case that may be filed, as I feel my frame of mind has been colored by my experiences with Mister Grey."

"But you still think we circumvented the law."

"Do you really want me to answer that question?"

"I suppose not. You'll regurgitate some line about taking the law into our own hands, but I also think you of all people should work towards understanding what mitigating circumstances means on a personal level rather than what you've read from a law book."

"I of all people?"

"She-Hulk hasn't always been so cooperative with your desire to do everything above the law," Tasha said.

"That was different. Self-defense could be argued in those cases."

"And what would you rather we have done? Sat on our thumbs while Grey continued hurting Pepper? Waited until the police arrived and discovered Pepper's mangled body? The world is filling up with bad guys and people willing to put a stop to them. Your convictions must evolve with the times or you'll find your place among those supers called into question."

"Called into question?" she said to ask for clarification.

"How can we allow you to help us do our jobs when we're constantly worried about stepping onto the other side of one of your rigid moral lines?"

"Point taken, Agent Romanoff," she said, but her brow was furrowed as her thoughts turned inward. The agent had a good point, and Jenny found herself at a moral crossroads. She would either have to give up her narrow, black and white, view of the law or compromise her relationship with She-Hulk and irrevocably splinter their increasingly melded personalities.

* * *

A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. It feels clunky, but the story needed it before I could move forward.

Next Chapter: Christian Grey does something unforgivable. She-Hulk gives him what he deserves.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Jenny loved her cousin to pieces. Bruce had a beautiful warmth about him that proved infectious, so after spending the weekend with him at Avengers Tower, she was surprisingly reluctant to return to the hard, cynical world of the United States justice system. But this sudden rash of wanting to hold her hand and ensure Grey wasn't going to climb out of the woodwork-apparently, he'd hacked a hotel reservations system and had been waiting for Pepper in Chicago-was mildly annoying. She was a big girl and didn't need her hand held.

Arriving to the office before Mallory wasn't so out of the ordinary that she paid note. She simply stopped by her assistant's desk to grab a stack of files their paralegal department had sent up and leaned over to wake up Mallory's computer and check her schedule.

"I'm going to make sure your office is clear," Bruce commented before brushing by her.

"If he's in there sprawled across my desk naked with a red bow around his penis, I give you permission to Hulk Smash him into next Thursday."

Bruce snorted, moving in a flurry of purple and tweed as he disappeared inside her office.

When no screams were forthcoming, she assumed the office was clear. Jotting down a list of appointment times, she booted up the call logger to check the cache of numbers that had called her office over the weekend. She blanched. An overwhelming majority on the list were from Christian's cell phone. The man had managed to call her office thirty times since Saturday morning. Thirty. During a weekend when most law offices were empty, because there was this thing where people took a break from work on the weekends to play golf and watch _The Walking Dead_ marathons.

She emptied the cache and was in the process of putting Mallory's computer back into hibernation when she noticed a small envelope tucked beneath the keyboard. _"Jennifer Walters"_ was scrawled across said envelope in a bold script. Christian had this thing where he curled the top stem of his Js. The J in Jennifer was hooked in that same manner, so her heart proverbially dropped into her feet where it thudded heavily.

Color drained from her face in a sickening sensation when opening the envelope resulted in finding a snippet of blonde hair and a short note that read _"I warned you I wouldn't play your games, Jennifer. If you want to see Miss Adams again, you will come to the following address alone tonight. I expect you at nine p.m. Be prompt."_ The address listed at the bottom was located in Queens. Jenny grimaced as her stomach clenched uncomfortably.

Christian's not-so-subtle threat against Mallory's life was signed simply with a G. Because nobody in the history of sleuthing could figure out who G was given her recent troubles with Mister Grey. _"Somebody call Sherlock-freaking-Holmes!"_ wailed her inner She-Hulk in the most melodramatic voice possible. _"We totally don't know who might be sending us cryptic threats whose name begins with a G!"_

"Bruce," Jenny called. Her hand clenched so tightly on the edge of Mallory's desk that her knuckles went from coconut sherbet to mint chocolate chip ice cream as her body was caught briefly in between Jenny and She-Hulk.

"What is it? Your office is clear, by the way," he said only to pause upon stepping into Mallory's cubicle. "Jenny, what's wrong?"

"Christian has abducted Mallory to get to me."

* * *

The night was dark and cold, sleet peppering around her when Jenny stepped out of a cab in front of the warehouse listed at the bottom of Christian's note. A Stark issue communication speaker felt uncomfortable lodged in her ear, but it allowed her to hear the rest of the Avengers team calling out their locations as they fanned around the building. In the entire history of stalkers, creepy abusers, and kidnappers, was there a single bad guy who honestly thought _"come unarmed and alone"_ would be obeyed? Of course not. It was just a matter of keeping the Knights of the Round Table hidden until King Arthur needed their intervention.

After making a semblance of paying the cab driver, who was really Bucky Barnes in disguise, she entered the warehouse via a side door that had been left ajar and skulked through the darkened interior. By the time she arrived on the main floor, empty but for a small table in the center, her eyes had adjusted to the gloom.

A long match was struck, causing light to flood the immediate surroundings, and a stranger set alight a pair of taper candles in an elegant candelabra. Christian Grey was seated there, casually leaning back against his chair, tie loosened and the top buttons of his crisply pressed dress shirt undone. A vase contained a bouquet of red roses. Two elegant table settings comprised of what she didn't doubt was fine china and gold-plated utensils were laid out.

At the edge of the light, just barely visible along that blurry line where light warred with shadow, Jenny finally caught sight of Mallory, who was tied to a chair and gagged. Because having a candlelight dinner with one's bound and gagged assistant sitting several feet away was totally romantic!

"Jennifer, at last," Christian drawled. He waved a hand toward the chair placed on the opposite side of the table.

"Let Mallory go," she demanded. Her hand trembled so forcefully fingers were squeezed into a tight fist.

"I think we'll have a lovely dinner first. Taylor has been slaving away in the kitchen all day preparing it for us, after all. It would be rude to rush ahead to the culmination of our union. You're looking positively gaunt. Haven't you been eating properly, Miss Walters?"

"Stomaching food is kind of difficult when creepers abduct assistants and leave threatening notes behind. Speaking of… Way to identity protect, Chrissy-pooh," she said with more boldness than she thought herself capable of mustering without going green. "Shortening your name to 'G' totally took me nine thousand hours to figure out."

Anger flared across his expression, and Christian struck the heel of his palm against the table, rattling dishes and shaking the candelabra dangerously. "I will not stand for your sarcasm, Miss Walters! Sit! Or Miss Adams will find making it to work in the morning difficult."

Jenny stiffened when shadows moved and birthed a third man, who casually leaned the handle of a sledgehammer against Mallory's knees. Breathing became difficult for Jenny when adrenaline loosened her grip on her control. She squeezed her eyes closed. _"Not yet, Shulkie."_ she said to herself. _"If we are one, then you have to cooperate. Not while Mallory's in danger."_

Avoiding sudden movement so as not to irritate Christian's skittishness was difficult, but she skulked over and seated herself at the table. "Do I need to explain that having a candlelight dinner while Mallory is being threatened Misery style is not going to be romantic, like, at all?"

"What is wrong with women these days?" he asked rather than responding to her comment. "I shower you with gifts. I save you from being assaulted by drunken strangers at a bar. I encourage you to eat, so you'll be healthy, but do you appreciate my concern? No."

"This is just a guess off the top of my head, but maybe it has something to do with the fact you abduct innocent assistants and threaten to break their kneecaps with a sledgehammer when you don't get your way?"

"Your sarcasm is not pleasing!" he shouted, eyes blazing.

His raised voice flattened her against the backrest of her chair. How could she be so afraid while simultaneously knowing she could Shulk out and turn him into a pancake?

At any rate, her flinch seemed to soothe him. He straightened a small fold in the cuff of his jacket before waving his fingers about. An air of confidence said he was used to being obeyed at the snap of his fingers, and this time was no different. One of his men rushed forward with a pair of covered dishes.

A plate was settled in front of her, the lid removed before Christian's man retreated a few steps. Some kind of steak, and she really couldn't begin to name what the cut was, filled up most of the real estate on her plate and was accompanied by shrimp and potatoes. Because Christian totally thought they were going to do the romance thing. With a wide-eyed abducted assistant nearby. Long live romance!

"Thank you, Mister Grey, but I don't eat beef," Jenny said as sweetly as possible.

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't. I watched a farmer butcher a calf once when I was a child and refuse to be part of a system that encourages the mass slaughter of cute furry things."

"You need protein. How will you be healthy enough to become Mrs. Grey if you refuse to partake in one of the main sources of nutrition your body needs?"

"Really? You're going to sit there and tell me what I can and can eat?"

"When you're unclear about how to properly take care of yourself, I will of course step in and educate you. Your health is extremely important to me. Eat, Jennifer, before the food becomes cold."

"I'm not eating the beef."

"You are."

"I'm not eating the beef," she repeated with more emphasis.

"Must I put you over my knee and beat you until you cannot sit before you learn your lesson, Jennifer?

"I'm not eating your damned beef!" Her hands were shaking from her fight to retain herself in the face of Christian's anger. The second she Shulked out, Mallory would be used against her to assure her cooperation. Of that, she was certain.

Their struggle of wills suddenly popped out of focus when Taylor interjected, "Mister Grey, we have movement outside the warehouse. Captain America has been spotted making his way toward the building."

Christian's head snapped back in her direction, obviously furious. "My instructions said you were to come alone, Miss Walters. You defied my order."

"Are you sure he's not just out for an evening stroll? I mean, it is a lovely evening, and it's not like I can control when Captain America feels like stretching his legs." Her tone dripped with so much sarcasm it could have filled up the Nile.

"Why do you women torment me?" he wailed in a tone that sounded almost agonized, as though he truly thought she was the one tormenting him, and he was merely reacting to her taunting. Surging to his feet, he kicked the table hard enough it toppled into her, which bought him a few seconds to get closer.

Jenny was momentarily distracted. Hot food, glass, and burning candles were suddenly tipping in her direction, forcing her to react to that rather than Christian Grey. She scrambled out her chair and just managed to avoid having her hair and clothing set on fire, but it gave Christian enough of a head start that he laid hands on her before She-Hulk could take over the situation.

A wrench of her arm stressed her shoulder joint painfully, and with the element of surprise working in his favor, he managed to force her facedown over the backrest of her chair where his hand slapped her ass hard enough she couldn't prevent herself from rocking forward. The fingers of his other hand curled around the side of her throat and hooked under her chin. Her neck was pulled to an awkward angle. A stronger man probably could have snapped her neck from that position, but Christian didn't seem intent on killing her, just taking what he wanted. What he wanted was obvious when she felt his groin pressing against her hip.

_"Now?"_ she asked herself. _"Yes, now."_

No urging was necessary. As soon as control was released, her body morphed, muscles enlarging, body getting bigger, green flaring across her skin, clothes stressed to the point that seams groaned in protest and ripped. Christian's strength was nothing in comparison to She-Hulk. She stood up so quickly he was flung backwards off his feet.

The man standing next to Mallory was already dead, an arrow protruding from the back of his neck, when she turned her attention toward freeing her assistant before her knees could be broken. Clint Barton shifted in the shadows just enough so that she could discern his location along the overhead catwalk. Agent Romanoff was engaged in taking down Taylor, who was proving more of a challenge than his employer.

Situation secure, she turned back to Christian Grey, who was picking himself up off the concrete floor. "Tell me something, Chrissy-Pooh, does our relationship work in reverse? Can you take as good as you give?"

"You betrayed me," he breathed. The shock in his expression hardened toward anger, and his tone shifted. "You betrayed me, Jennifer."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. No good will come of that balled up fist."

Of course he didn't listen. Heeding her warning would have been far too sensible for someone used to getting his way and being intimidated by no one. Christian stepped in her direction and slugged that fist toward her face.

She-Hulk caught his wrist before he could land a single blow. Operating on pure adrenaline by that point, she wrenched his arm at such an angle he had to step toward her to relieve the pressure on his joint. He came within reach, and she grasped hold of the back of his neck with the intent of immobilizing him until one of the others could arrive with restraints.

Christian was having none of that. His knee impacted against her groin while he attempted to wrench his wrist out of her grip, yelping when he succeeded only in hurting himself, as She-Hulk's grip was far too strong to be circumvented.

Not even a grunt was forthcoming. Instead, she used her grip on the nape of his neck to hold him at a greater distance. Beating him to death crossed her mind, naturally, but he was just so beneath her that beating him to death would have felt hollow and pointless, rather like a Grizzly bear facing off against Pooh Bear.

Disaster struck.

Agent Romanoff grunted behind her. The whistle of an arrow clattered against the floor, and She-Hulk turned to determine why the situation wasn't under control anymore only to find Taylor spinning out of the way of another one of Barton's arrows, an arm wrapped around Romanoff's neck.

The warehouse was dark enough she didn't immediately see the gun appear in Taylor's hand and felt the impact of the bullet against her chest long before she heard the bark of gunfire. Action inside the warehouse seemed to still momentarily. The pulse in her temples throbbed. Her chest tightened. Taylor's bullet didn't so much as scratch her, but the anger and violence left in its wake destroyed her ability to see reason.

With a terrible screech of sound, she whipped Christian off his feet and slammed him against the concrete like a rag doll before marching in Taylor's direction.

* * *

The bastard defending Grey wasn't just a rent-a-cop employed on a mall security squad. He moved too well. His training was too ingrained. Tasha, who thought the situation well on its way to being resolved, found herself dancing with Taylor more awkwardly than when she danced with Barton, whose moves she knew like the back of her hand.

In the end, Taylor got in a lucky move that forced her momentarily off balance. He spun her about and had her neck clenched in the grip of his surprisingly-strong forearm before she could drop beneath his reach. Definitely not a reject from a mall security squad. The man went so far as to back them under a catwalk so Clint wouldn't have a clean shot from above.

Control over the whole fiasco degenerated even further when the man managed to get a shot off out of some desperate attempt to keep She-Hulk from hurting his employer, who had absolutely no chance of getting the upper hand over their green Amazon. Naturally, being shot pissed She-Hulk off and ended whatever emotional control she'd possessed up until that point, causing her to Shulk Smash Christian into the concrete and barrel in their direction.

Glee over seeing Christian briefly turned into a rag doll died at the prospect of being made the creamy center between the She-Hulk and Taylor sandwich. She squeezed her eyes closed in anticipation, but a soft sound, like that of gunfire muzzled by a silencer, was nearly drowned out by the cacophony of sound. Taylor's grip on her throat suddenly eased. Grunting, he stumbled backward and dropped to his knees.

Tasha moved as soon as she could, spinning away from him, and going down into a crouch to take herself out of the line of attack, and that was when she noticed the trail of blood on the side of her attacker's throat. Glancing in the appropriate direction brought Barnes into view, who was standing in a darkened corner with a rifle against his shoulder. She inclined her head to thank him for the assistance.

"You okay, Tash?" Clint asked, having made his way down from the catwalk.

"Yeah, fine."

"Guess those sparring lessons haven't been as effective as I thought. Someone's getting a little rusty," he purred.

She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips slightly. _"Your mother's…"_ she started to say in Russian only for Barton to interrupt.

"Yes, I know. My mother's genitals are half-six-legged raccoon, half-eight-nosed badger, and a third one-eyed mongoose," Clint finished for her.

His comment only deepened the furrows in her brow, and she gave him one of those looks, the kind that said he was in for it at some later date when the situation wasn't so chaotic, because Captain America finally allowed Bruce into the building, who was intercepting Jenny and attempting to talk her down. Rogers, for his part, was cutting Mallory's bonds and helping her to her feet, so Tasha approached Christian's limp body.

Crouching next to him, she pressed her fingers against his jugular to feel for a pulse point. Could she be blamed for being just a little disappointed when she found a slow and sluggish pulse. The man's leg was twisted at an awkward angle. His shoulder appeared out of joint, and there were already livid bruises beginning to form on his throat.

"To call an ambulance or not to call an ambulance, that is the question," she muttered under her breath.

She couldn't know if Captain America had such good hearing that he actually overheard her comment or if it was just coincidence when Steve said, "An ambulance is en route, Agent Romanoff. Stabilize him as best you can without putting stress on possible spine injuries, and prep for transport to the hospital."

Having the decision taken out of her hands was a relief, she supposed. Certainly, the man deserved to die after what he'd done to Pepper, Jenny, and Mallory, but that wasn't her call anymore. Their team leader had made the call, and she would go with his decision.

* * *

A/N: I really enjoyed that chapter way too much. I'm getting ready to wrap up this section and move on to a different heroine, who will be revealed the end of next chapter. Gosh, this story is so therapeutic! Thanks bunches for reading. I hope everyone's enjoying it.

Next Chapter: Tasha gets emotional. Jenny gets a job offer. Christian receives a strange visitor in the hospital.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Lights from the city flooded in through the expansive windows in Tasha's new apartment, Number Fifty Six Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, NY. Hastily packed boxes were strewn across the space with lids haphazardly flung open and items partially spilling out. Furniture was piled here and there serving as makeshift tables for the eclectic mix of possessions she'd gathered from around the world. And she'd been to numerous countries throughout her career.

Decorating her apartment was the one area where she allowed her control to lapse.

A decorative elephant head sculpture encrusted with semi-precious metals and stones from India was lodged firmly on the sofa next to an antique Chinese kimono displayed in a large picture frame behind protective glass. Clint had once joked that her apartment was a clown car, a dozen clowns scrambling out of a VW bug. Only in her case, it was cramming far too many personal belongings into her old shoebox of an apartment.

Moonlight splashed most prominently over the naked couple in the bed. Clint pressed a final kiss to Tasha's mouth before rolling from between her legs to settle on his side next to her as she simultaneously turned into him so as not to lose bodily contact with him. His fingers tucked along her jaw to lift her head, grooves forming along the outer corner of his eyes. A thumb gently grazed her throat.

"They're just bruises," she whispered, hoarse from the inflammation in her throat due to Taylor's strong grip. "Bruce said I'll be fine in a few days."

"Wasn't thinking about that," he responded.

She stiffened slightly and shifted onto her back. "Oh, so you weren't thinking about how uncomfortable I must be from ex-CIA's attempted strangulation?"

"Nope. Was thinking about the benefits of breaking into his hospital room and bashing his head in with his heart monitor. You know Agent Lusk would look the other way. Can't believe the son of a bitch lived through Barnes' bullet. If I'd shot him, he'd be dead."

"Lay off Barnes. Whether you like it or not, he's here to stay. You might even become friends if you'd stop glaring at each other. Besides, I thought we'd settled this whole insecurity issue. Barnes is not a threat to your masculinity."

"I s'ppose it wouldn't hurt to give him half a chance. You know, for the captain's sake."

"Because the thought of possibly becoming friendly with Barnes for your own benefit-you know, because you share quite a few things in common-is tantamount to torture."

Clint raised an eyebrow, palm flattening against her naked stomach. "Where'd this sudden love for friends come from? That's twice you've mentioned it in thirty seconds."

She shrugged. "Pepper invited me to look at venues. There's something nice about spending time with someone who doesn't expect you to fill a certain mold."

A soft snort was his response.

"Don't snort at me, Barton, for maybe reevaluating my stance on emotional connections. You're reaping the benefit, aren't you?"

"I wasn't snorting derisively. Sure, it was a little weird seeing you hanging out with Pepper, but I like it. Next thing you know, you'll be having slumber parties and giggling over Twilight together."

Tasha rolled over and punched him right in the nipple. "Your mother…"

"Ow! Jesus, Romanoff. How am I ever going to breastfeed our pack of brats if you permanently damage my mammary glands? And my mother did not smell of elderberries." Pain bled into laughter in his voice.

Her expression became stricken and wide-eyed for about ten seconds before she forced herself to calm and appear more normal. He was going to breastfeed their brats? Was he seriously thinking about kids? With her? The thought terrified her.

Seconds later, she commented in as calm a voice as possible. "Vampires don't sparkle. Ask Blade. He'll give you a dissertation about how Edward Cullen is not a real vampire but some housewife's erotic, sexually-repressed wet dream."

If he noticed her expression, he didn't comment on it and instead said, "Nothing wrong with a bunch of housewives and hormonal teenagers gushing over imaginary vampire porn."

Silence settled between them for a few minutes while she attempted to right her emotions. Clint had never mentioned kids before. Not once. Hell, he'd never mentioned anything permanent about their relationship until that point, and she dreaded and was excited about the thought of permanency in equal parts.

Finally, she broke the silence to ask, "What do you think of my new place?" She kind of liked her new apartment with its two story ceilings, floor to ceiling windows, and the fact that the only walls in the entire place partitioned off the luxurious bathroom.

"You need to put me in touch with your interior decorator, 'cause the views are impressive," he muttered while eyes shifted down to take in her naked breasts.

A little smirk lightened her lips, and she flattened her palm over his face to keep his head from falling into her boobs. "You know, we could try that thing where we live in the same apartment. Pin a hammock to the ceiling so you'll feel more comfortable, and you're welcome to make some kind of nest up in the corner."

Barton tensed. He looked away from her, and his teeth worked against the inside of his cheek, obviously uncomfortable. "Yeah, maybe." And then he shifted subject matter as quickly as possible by continuing, "So you heard Grey lived through his injuries, right? Fury's got three agents stationed outside his hospital room to make sure no one comes or goes."

The sudden change in subject slammed the proverbial door closed on her offer of cohabitation. For some reason, it stung sharply enough she dropped her hand from his chest and rolled onto her opposite side to face away from him, arms tucking up beneath her pillow. "Yeah. Broken neck, broken leg, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder but the bastard's heart is still going."

A brief moment of tension made the silence crackle before Clint said, "Yeah, well, we can't win 'em all. And at least we know he'll be in custody until charges and a trial happen."

"Go to sleep, Clint. We have debriefing tomorrow morning."

Tasha remained quiet while her lover shifted around until he was settled comfortably. Clint Barton had never had trouble sleeping, so there was no surprise when the sound of his breathing deepened over the course of a few minutes, at which point, she dashed her fingers across her cheeks to take away the unexpected tears wetting her cheeks.

She'd been an idiot of course. Two agents cohabitating? Two people with their level of trust and commitment issues taking such a huge step so soon? It was no wonder he'd reacted so coldly to the idea. The real wonder was why she was reacting so emotionally to his dismissal.

* * *

"Miss Walters, you have a call from Nicholas Fury on line one."

Jenny scowled when a temp's voice emanated from her office phone. Why was Director Fury calling her office line? Because she'd accidentally smashed her own cell phone in the hours following the Christian Grey fiasco. The douche-nozzle was laid up in some VIP hospital suite being pampered by a bevy of blonde nurses rather than residing in the city morgue.

She answered the call by saying, "Jennifer Walters."

"Someone sounds like they need to hug a fluffy pig," Fury quipped.

"I destroyed my phone, ripped my favorite blouse, Christian Grey is still above snakes, and my assistant handed in her resignation. Not that I can blame her. She was kidnapped and threatened with having her knees shattered with a sledgehammer because of me. Any reasonably sane person would make like a gazelle instead of remaining employed as my assistant." She was slightly breathless when she got through with that rant.

"Feel better?"

"Not really."

"Captain Rogers enjoys a punching bag when he has excess emotional energy to work through."

"I'd break the punching bag."

"I might be able to arrange a sparring match with Logan Howlett."

"I'd break the boxing ring."

"Yoga?"

"I'd break the yoga mat."

"I think those things are pretty indestructible."

"Then I'd break the floor beneath the yoga mat."

"Sucks to be you."

"Tell me about it."

"Big bag of weed?"

"Director! Marijuana is still illegal in the state of New York."

"I can arrange a quinjet to Colorado or Washington state."

Hearing something like that come out of Director Fury's mouth actually made her chuckle, and chuckling did make her feel slightly better. "Thank you, Director."

"Always happy to be of service. Was wondering something, though."

"I rescinded my recommendation from the DA's office that criminal charges should be looked into. You were right, by the way. Your agents do have immunity from civil and criminal filings. I'm certain I could have found a way around their immunity, though."

"Actually, I wasn't calling about that. The DA and I already spoke. There's an Avengers unit forming on the west coast, and I wondered if you'd be interested in a spot on the roster. There are excellent law firms in that region in desperate need for a lawyer of your caliber."

"Are you serious? I thought I was the black sheep of the super community given my rather stern view of the law."

"Little birds indicated you were reevaluating your stance on vigilante justice. If you're willing to play by the Avengers interpretation of the law, we could use you out west."

Maybe a change of scenery was just what she needed. Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway were only willing to employ her so long as she remained in her Jennifer Walters form while at work and in the courtroom. They weren't open minded enough to tolerate her coming into the office with green skin, and she found herself spending more and more time in her She-Hulk form where she could escape from her insecurities and better live life to the fullest. A fresh start, that was what she needed.

"Miss Walters?"

"I'm still here, Director. You know what, I think I'll take that spot on the west coast roster. Give me two weeks, and I'll be ready to move to California."

"One other thing. Grey is being moved via SHIELD transport to a facility in New Mexico. A surgeon out there is running experimental trials on spinal cord repair, and since Grey has the funds to pay for his own surgery, we have no legal recourse of denying him the transfer so long as we continue to keep him under armed escort."

A moment of panic made her blood pressure skyrocket. "No, of course. A prisoner can't be denied medical treatment, especially if he's not asking for taxpayers to pay for it. Besides, he's innocent until proven guilty in a court of law, remember?"

"I just wanted you to have fair warning. He'll be in SHIELD custody the whole way. Five agents will be waiting in New Mexico to take keep him under surveillance."

Then moving to California was an even better idea than she'd first thought. A change of scenery, a new position at a more progressive law firm, channeling her energy into an Avengers unit? That sounded like the right medicine for making her feel in control of her own destiny again. Of course she would miss Bruce, and even Pepper and Natasha, but they were only a plane ride away as the saying went.

* * *

An involuntary sound of pain was pulled from Christian's vocal cords when nurses transferred him from the gurney to his new hospital bed in Nautton, New Mexico, checked his IV drips, and then quietly left him to rest. She-Hulk had done so much damage flinging him about and smashing him into the concrete floor that hope for a full recovery was extremely slim. His best chance of ever being able to walk again was an experimental surgery by spine specialist Doctor Gupta, who worked out of Saint Theresa hospital.

Good thing he was a billionaire and could afford the procedure, but he took perverse pleasure in having made the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division arrange his transfer. He was keenly aware of the agents stationed outside his hospital room and occasionally glancing in to check on him. But the flight had been absolute misery, a secondary pain to the ache in his chest from Miss Walters' ultimate rejection. The sting was worse than when Virginia and Anastasia had rejected him, as he'd considered marriage to Miss Walters a very real possibility.

His eyes were closed, some daytime talk show host droning on about winter fashion trends from the television set, when a strange sensation shifted the currents of his room. The atmosphere became strangely charged with tension. Fine hairs along his arms stood on end. Goosebumps pricked his skin, but nothing seemed out of place until a figure melted out of the dark shadows near the armoire and had him reaching for the remote on his bed to call for a nurse.

"No need have you of your mortal communication device," the woman purred in a sultry voice. An elegant wave of her fingers caused the remote to pull away from his reach and clatter against the outside railing of his bed. She hadn't even physically touched it.

"Wh-who are you?" he stammered, heart racing as though he'd just run a mile.

Plump, ruby lips pulled into a smile. "On Asgard, I am called Amora. You may call me the Enchantress."

"A-Asgard? That's nothing but a fairytale." Her beauty was incomparable. One of her lush hips jutted to the side slightly, drawing attention to her hourglass figure and ample breasts.

"A Fairytale? Ah, but I am here to expand your mind. I will give you a gift, and in return, you will do something for me."

"What gift?"

Her fingers shifted, middle finger drawing small circles in the air while her pinkie lifted and hooked slightly in such a manner as to appear completely unnatural and grotesque. A soft, green-and-lime-and-sage-and-evergreen aura appeared around her hand, and a flick of her wrist flung off the aura and sent it sailing in Christian's direction.

"What are you doing?" The alarm in his voice increased, and he scrambled to grab hold of the safety railing, but given his compromised body, he wasn't able to move quickly enough to actually get away from the aura. Mist seeped into his nostrils and lungs. It tasted oddly like mint with a dash of lime.

A terrible gasp jerked his body when airways closed off to prevent him from exhaling the fumes, panic causing him to flop around like a fish unable to create enough momentum to fling itself the extra two inches that would return it to the ocean and safety. Black spots danced behind his eyes. His head spun wildly as though the world was falling away, and just as soon as he knew he would expire from asphyxiation, an explosion of warmth took place inside his chest cavity and spread outward in overwhelming waves.

When it was over, he lay there limply. Small breaths rushed back into his lungs. Strength seeped into his extremities, and the pain pounding dully through his body eased until he felt…not quite normal. He felt rather like he'd exercised vigorously enough that his muscles were pleasantly stretched and used.

"What did you do to me?" he demanded.

"Life, have I given you. Strength, have I given you. The ability to smite your enemies and fulfill my great need, have I given you. Rise, my champion. Your body is quite healed, and you have much work to do."

Christian came this close to snapping that he couldn't rise because his damned spine was shattered, but the pain no longer existed. The safety railing dropped without being touched, producing a loud clanging sound, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed, rising slowly until he was steady and certain on his feet again. A brilliant smile curled his lips.

"What would you have me do in payment for this generous gift?" he purred in his dark-chocolate-and-caramel-and-raspberry-and-milk-chocolate-mousse-and-key-lime-pie-and-rainbow-sherbet-and-gravy-and-buffalo-chicken-wing-and-hot-sauce-and-jalapeno-and-salsa-and-taco-and-mango-and-tequilla voice.

"Kill Jane Foster."

* * *

A/N: Well, that was fun. So does this mean Christian just evolved into a T-Rex? Natasha isn't going to be happy. Next chapter might be a little late, as some unforeseen circumstances have cut into my writing time. I'll try to squeeze in enough time to write up the next chapter, but if I don't, please be patient. I won't make you wait too long.

Next Chapter: Christian Grey Versus Jane Foster. Jane isn't terribly happy to see Agent Barton after SHIELD manipulated her into being out of the country while Thor was on planet. Darcy babbles about music when she gets nervous or uncertain.


	18. Christian Grey Vs Jane Foster

Christian Grey Vs Jane Foster

Chapter Eighteen

The November afternoon in Puente Antiguo was unusually crisp. A bite of winter ripped through the high plains and caused Jane, staring at Monster with a pronounced scowl in place, to shiver. Funny how mechanics took advantage of women. She kicked one of Monster's wheels in frustration when she could clearly see a growing puddle of oil beneath the truck's oil pan despite the fact the mechanic claimed it had been fixed.

Men.

So she was already bristling from having paid someone to do a job they clearly hadn't done-she was a scientist, not a freaking mechanic, but apparently she needed to buy a repair manual and do it herself-when a nondescript sedan pulled into her lot. Her body tensed. The last time uninvited guests had arrived, they'd turned out to be media goons who'd hounded her every step for an entire week demanding interviews and asking probing questions about Thor. His brief visit to Puente Antiguo had been leaked to the press, and there were even pictures of her being bandied about with headlines like "_Thor's mystery woman_" and "_Local has a wild weekend with uber hot alien._" No. Seriously. People had printed crap like that!

Their visitors were becoming increasingly insistent on intruding into her private life, so she wasn't taking any chances. Jane dug into Monster's glove box and retrieved a lockbox. A quick code was entered, and she palmed the nine millimeter pistol Erik had insisted she purchase before leaving to take care of his projects. She loaded the clip and turned around in time to see a man emerging from the sedan. Another scowl was immediately forming.

"You!" Jane shouted in a less-than-friendly tone upon noting the SHIELD emblems adorning the shoulders of his dark jacket. "Get off my property."

The agent froze in mid-step, hands moving up from his sides to be held away from the firearm attached to his belt. "No need to get antsy here. Why don't you put that gun away?"

"You're not standing on the opposite side of my property line yet." Her hand tightened around the grip, barrel pointed at a safe angle toward the ground, so it wasn't as though she'd shoved it in his face and threatened to pop a cap in his backside gangster style. Or was it Gungam style? Keeping track of modern cultural references made her head spin sometimes.

"Tell me where your property line ends, and I'll comply with your request."

"The sidewalk is the nearest public property," she responded.

Stepping back several paces brought him onto the sidewalk where his toes flirted with that imaginary line labeled "_Property of Doctor Jane Foster._" His body was rigid, but he kept his hand away from his sidearm. "Name's Clint Barton. I'm with the Strategic Homeland…"

"I know who you're with," she said to prevent him from wasting his breath repeating that mouthful of a name.

"You ready to talk logically, or are we going to wave our guns around shouting obscenities some more?"

"Don't be melodramatic, Agent Barton. No one is shouting obscenities or waving firearms around." Now that he was a safe distance from her property line, she thrust the gun back into the holster. "Representatives of SHIELD are not welcome on my property after, you know, you lied to me about consulting in Norway and prevented me from having contact with Thor Odinson while he was briefly on planet."

"No one deliberately prevented you from having contact with Thor. You were removed from the United States for your own safety, and the nature of Thor's hasty retreat from the planet without being able to see you was unfortunate but necessary."

"Funny thing how every time I have contact with SHIELD they're either lying to me or stealing my property."

"Did you actually consult with the observatory in Norway?"

"Yes."

"Were you paid for your time while consulting with the scientists there?"

"Of course."

"Sounds to me like you actually engaged in the activity you were asked to complete. That doesn't constitute lying. If you were asked to consult with scientists and arrived being asked to judge a professional dog show, your argument might have solid footing."

Her eyes narrowed. "Technicalities. The outcome is still the same."

"I just want to talk. You haven't made a report to SHIELD since before the Chitauri incident in New York, so the director asked me to check on you while in the neighborhood."

An awkward silence was permeated with the distant sound of hammers and heavy machinery as construction workers continued the long task of rebuilding after the Destroyer attack. She narrowed her eyes and finally said, "I suppose it wouldn't kill me to invite you in for a cup of coffee given that it's colder than the Eskimo Nebula out here." Which actually wasn't name so because it was cold but because it resembled a person's head inside a parka hood.

A sudden crackling sound emanated from vintage speakers mounted to the building's exterior. Seconds later, Michael Stipe was-rather ironically given Jane's willingness to invite a member of SHIELD in for coffee-wailing "_It's the end of the world as we know it_" loudly enough he could probably be heard throughout neighboring city blocks.

"Darcy!" she shouted, but shouting over the music just wasn't possible.

The music finally dimmed, and Darcy's voice came over the loudspeakers. "I got the sound system working again, Jane! Isn't that, like, the coolest thing ever! REM rocks. Michael Stipe's their lead singer, you know. God, he's so dreamy. He's, like, the best thing since iPods."

"How could I possibly not know who their lead singer is living with you?" she muttered under her breath whilst rolling her eyes hard enough to momentarily hurt her brain. But she couldn't help a smile. "Well, are you going to stand there freezing to death, Agent Barton, or come inside?" Her steps reversed, and she headed back toward her lab.

Darcy Lewis outwardly seemed like a shallow flake, but she was really a very intelligent, capable woman as evidenced by the fact she'd repaired the building's long-dead sound system. After the events leading to the Destroyer attack, Darcy had been so fascinated by the science behind their close encounter that she'd switched to online courses for her political science focus and had stayed on as Jane's assistant.

She was reaching for the door handle when a repurposed school bus stopped on the street outside her lab. A few people flooded out onto the sidewalk. Some carried signs reading "I love you, Thor!" while others merely whipped out cameras. Flashes repeatedly went off as pictures were taken. One could only make out a few individual sentences amidst the riot of excited voices all clamoring for attention. A girl exclaimed "That's Jane Foster? She's, like, totes not hot enough to have Thor's babies!"

Jane glanced back at Barton. "If someone at SHIELD leaked my location to the press, I'm going to invent some kind of teleportation ray that will set us down in cartoon land. I will play the part of Yosemite Sam. You will be the rascally rabbit."

Barton had the nerve to chuckle.

* * *

Natasha's scowl was reflected back at her in the glass. Her brow was furrowed, and she was actually worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, an old nervous tick that hadn't reared its head since back in the Alexi Shostakov era. The brief thought of her former husband, who'd been killed many decades ago, deepened her scowl. How could she have been so stupid as to blurt out an offer of cohabitation to Clint?

Their relationship had been strained ever since, the tension culminating in a knock-down-drag-out a half hour before he'd gotten on a quinjet to New Mexico to reestablish contact with the SHIELD agents who'd accompanied Christian Grey. Contact with the agents had been severed for seventy-two hours. Everyone was understandably edgy.

Focus pulled her mind out of the sludge that was her relationship drama to pinpoint the task at hand. Jason Taylor was still recuperating in a hospital room from Barnes' bullet to the neck. She inclined her head to the two agents stationed outside keeping him under twenty-four hour surveillance before stepping through the door. A twinge of pain crossed the man's expression when he turned his head in her direction.

"So what's your real name?" she asked upon planting herself at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and legs braced apart to affect a calm, confident persona.

"Jason Taylor," he croaked.

"Yeah, that's what your employment records for Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc indicate, but that's not what I asked. Shall we try again? What's your real name?"

"Jason Tiberius Taylor," he repeated.

A little smirk tilted her lips. "Star Trek fan, huh? And here I was starting to give up all hope for you. Funny little anomaly popped up in Grey's financial transactions list, you know, standard procedure for doing a workup on someone like Mister Grey. Apparently he's been making periodic payments to a boarding school in upstate Washington by the name of Wardcroft's School for the Gifted."

Taylor's calm façade revealed a brief breach, a muscle in his jaw jumping, eyes widening slightly before he calmed again.

Tasha continued, "These payments are made in a specific pattern corresponding with the standard semester cycle seen in a lot of private school systems. Funny thing is Christian doesn't have any children or siblings of an age where private schools would be necessary. So we're going to try this again, only this time, you'll tell me the truth so I don't continue digging and discover the identity of this mystery child. What is your real name?"

"Thomas Parington," he finally said before squeezing his eyes closed.

"We seem to have a situation here, Thomas Parington. Your employer was moved to another facility to undergo an experimental procedure, but we've since lost contact with the agents accompanying him. You want to tell me what's going on?"

"Don't know."

"Thing about having kids is the lengths to which you'll go to protect them. Girl or boy?"

His expression hardened, lips tightening into a thin line as he turned his head to the side to break eye contact with her. That was a mutinous look if she'd ever seen one.

"You seem like a decent enough fellow. What's Grey got on you to ensure your loyalty? Skeletons in the closet? You part of a CIA ops that went bad? You used a military career to hide illegal activity? Come on. We can help you. We can make a lot of problems disappear."

"Nothing like that. Things weren't the same after Desert Storm. I did my tour of duty and got out, but transitioning back to civilian life isn't easy. Grey came along and offered to pay my girl's education expenses through university if I came on as the head of his security team. Guy like me can't afford the kinds of schools she deserves."

"Everyone has their price tag, Parington. You know, you look more like a Taylor. Mind if I continue calling you that?"

"Please, do."

"So what can you tell me about New Mexico? What fail safes are in place that would allow him to wiggle out of custody? What kind of team members could dispatch five SHIELD agents and move someone with a debilitating spine injury?"

"This isn't something we were ever prepared for. Flash enough money, and even the cops will ignore when you've been a naughty boy. There was a situation where one of his exes had a psychotic episode and attempted to murder his then girlfriend. Cops looked the other way while Grey and his therapist smuggled her to a mental facility on the east coast."

"What's the name of his therapist?"

"Flynn. He practices out of Seattle."

"What's your kid's name? Do you have any other personal attachments in Washington? We'll need to bring them into custody for their protection. If he suspects you're talking to us, things could get hairy."

Her cell phone chimed then, playing a clip of the Inspector Gadget theme song which was programmed in association with Barton's number. "Excuse me, I need to get this."

Tasha stepped into the hall.

* * *

A/N: Whew! I managed to get it up on schedule. This story started out as just light fun. I never expected to find an actual story inside the humor. Thank you to everyone who's read and taken the time to comment. That people are enjoying this gives me Warm Fuzzy Syndrome.

Next Chapter: Apparently Jane is Princess Vespa, and Christian Grey decides to get physical.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Okay, so there was the slightest, tiniest possibility she'd overreacted upon seeing Barton climb out of his rental, she admitted to herself while they shared coffee after dinner. Remnants of a passable meal of Van De Kamps fish sticks and instant mashed potatoes littered the kitchen table. Since mashed potatoes couldn't be eaten without piling a load of corn on top, there were also empty cans of corn lying about near the stove. Her cooking skills were basic, but at least their bellies were full, and they were ensconced inside the warmth of the old auto dealership.

Snow was rare so early in the season even in the high plains, but a heavy blanket was in the process of covering Puente Antiguo, fat flakes falling so densely visibility was just about nil. Over the course of the evening, they'd watched the roads become increasingly more impassable. A city works plow would occasionally make a pass, but they weren't keeping ahead of the rapid rate of precipitation. As a result, Agent Barton was stuck, and she wasn't quite heartless enough to just turn him out in the cold.

"I'm sorry. Coulson and I didn't see eye to eye while he was here, but I never would have wished death on him. That's terrible news," she said after a sip of coffee.

"He spoke highly of you," Barton responded. "Said he knew what Thor sees in you, that you're extraordinarily brave given your career path and don't take guff from people even when it's wiser to back down."

"Like when mysterious covert government agents invade my lab and requisition my equipment? I disposed of the check he gave me to cover the replacement of my equipment."

"She donated half to a government watchdog group and gave the other half to the city fund to help make repairs from the attack. You should have seen her, though. I thought she was going to squirt acid from her eyes and permanently disfigure Agent Coulson," interjected Darcy. "Seriously. Chick's Xena. At the very least, she's Princess Vespa."

"I don't know if that's a compliment or not," Jane said.

"Are you kidding? She was all 'I hate guns; I'm not touching this!' And then they shot at her and singed her hair, and she went Rambo all up in their faces."

Clint was caught mid-sip and had trouble getting it down before laughing. "Him requisitioning your stuff wasn't malicious, you know."

"No, I get that, but in the blink of an eye, he destroyed my life's work. Still, I am truly sorry he was killed. He didn't deserve that." Pausing, she leaned back in her chair to peer outside again. "Those roads probably won't improve until the sun comes up tomorrow, so I suppose you'll need a bed to sleep in."

"Appreciate the thought, Doctor. Wasn't looking forward to spending the night in a rental car in the middle of nowhere. So does that happen often? That thing where tourists climb out of their busses to take pictures."

"We call it Thor Watching," said Darcy.

"Comes and goes, I guess. Back in the first couple of months after news stories appeared, we had people camped out on the sidewalk at all hours of the day and night. There were fan girls and media goons constantly pestering us. We couldn't even go to the grocery without someone shoving a camera or microphone in our faces."

"Thor wouldn't like seeing you harassed because of him. He was concerned about you. Are you safe here? Has anyone attempted to do more than just disrupt your life?"

She shrugged while attempting to affect an indifferent expression. "A few people tried to break in. We've had to replace broken glass. Some whacko in a Thor costume tried to convince me he was Thor and got a little physical."

"A little physical? Erik damn near broke Wannabe's arm dragging him off you! Allow me to explain. No, there is too much. Allow me to sum up," Darcy said in her best Inigo Montoyo impersonation. "There's a reason Doctor Selvig wouldn't leave us alone here until we'd taken gun safety classes, obtained our concealed to carry permits, and bought guns."

Clint flinched slightly. "You're a SHIELD consultant, Doctor Foster. There are options available to you if you'd simply contacted our regional office. Agents can be permanently stationed here for your protection while you finish your research."

"Forgotten that I'm irritated with SHIELD already? Clearly I didn't make enough of an impression," she said with another smirk. "I need to retrieve some bedding out of Hobbiton for you before this snow gets any deeper."

"Hobbiton?"

"The camper," Darcy helpfully supplied.

Leaving Clint and Darcy to continue chatting, she pushed up from the table. A cold blast of air upon stepping outside meant instant goose bumps and chapped cheeks, and she stood still for a moment to tilt her face upward. Flakes of snow brushed her skin, tickling her. Memories of her father-winter had always been his favorite season-returned to warm her insides briefly, but the moment of nostalgia quickly fled. An eerie sense of being watched remained in its wake.

Peering into the dark shadows of the building revealed nothing out of place. Not a soul was out and about on such a terrible night. Not a single car braved the worsening roads, so she returned to her task at hand, darting toward Hobbiton on steps more hurried than before.

Building up the dealership into a working lab and residence had been time consuming. Though the site had originally been intended as a temporary location to study the unusual atmospheric conditions that accompanied the Bifrost activation, she simply couldn't bring herself to leave the area anymore. One day, Thor would return or she would solve the mystery of harnessing an Einstein-Rosen Bridge. How would they ever see each other again if she packed up and moved to another location?

So she'd thrown herself into building up the location into a more comfortable arrangement. Work had slowed after Erik had left to see to his own projects, but Darcy and she had been making steady progress with the help of contractors, grants, and SHIELD funding. Accepting their funds while simultaneously hoping their organization imploded probably meant she was in league with the devil. Or possessed by one.

At any rate, the showroom, with its circular shape and glass storefront, had been converted into her main lab space. She enjoyed the sun during long hours working with her equipment. The back of the building now housed three modest bedrooms, a living space, and a kitchen, and the old public restrooms had been converted into private bathrooms.

That sickening sensation returned upon leaving Hobbiton with her arms laden with blankets and pillows. Her breathing became short, a response to the heightened adrenaline pumping through her system. Distant and very feminine laughter just about made her jump out of her skin. Typical. The one time something truly spooked her was the one time she'd left the gun locked up in the safe inside. On the one hand, responsible gun ownership for the win! Responsible gun ownership didn't make her feel better.

* * *

Anticipation burned hotly through Christian's veins as he stood in the darkened shadows cast by the building. Security lamps in the parking lot provided enough light for him to watch Jane Foster exit and head toward an old camper. Jane paused once when Amora laughed softly, the sultry sound of the Asgardian's chuckle racing down his spine to make his loins twitch.

A finger was pressed to his lips, a scowl souring his expression when he glanced in Amora's direction. Natasha Romanoff never would have allowed her emotions to get the better of her and result in an audible laugh which risked giving away their position. Control was necessary for these sorts of things, and his Asgardian companion lacked what Natasha possessed in spades. Thoughts of Agent Romanoff produced an unexpected twitch in his groin.

He allowed his mind to explore his very physical response after Jane disappeared inside the camper. Agent Romanoff was not his type. She was strong and confident and not given to falling for manipulative games that would slowly isolate her from the rest of the world. Neither a suitable submissive nor capable of becoming the center of his universe was she, so he should not be experiencing any kind of attraction to her.

The mystery went unsolved, because his thoughts were interrupted again by Jane reappearing carrying a mound of blankets and pillows in her arms. Amora tensed behind him, but he extended a hand in an effort to hold her back. They exchanged a look, the pair carrying on a brief power struggle through posture alone before the Asgardian deferred and melted deeper into the shadows.

Position secure, he stepped forward to give Jane the briefest glimpse of movement in the hopes she would explore in his direction and provide the perfect opportunity to strike.

"Who's there?" she called softly. Setting her pile of blankets on the hood of a vehicle, she skulked in his direction.

Like a cat lured by a flutter of motion. The second she was within striking distance, he surged from the shadows and curled his hand around her forearm before she could pull backward. Whatever the Enchantress had done to him, it had increased his reaction times, made him faster, stronger, and more adaptive. He could see better in dim light than ever before, and the sight of her eyes widening and the slight distension of her jugular fluttering just beneath her skin caused his erection to harden until he wondered if he would burst.

"Let go," she muttered, her voice calm despite her more panicked body language.

"This isn't personal," he drawled, his voice silken like dark-chocolate-and-caramel-and-raspberry-and-milk-chocolate-mousse-and-key-lime-pie-and-rainbow-sherbet-and-gravy-and-buffalo-chicken-wing-and-hot-sauce-and-jalapeno-and-salsa-and-taco-and-mango-and-tequilla-and-pistachios. "This is business, and I will try to make it quick and painless."

Her eyes widened as she stayed abreast with the meaning behind his words. Once upon a time, women had been predictable. Cornering one had meant shrieks and fainting and helplessness. Not so anymore. Leastways not with the women he'd encountered recently. Rather than giving in to fear, Jane grabbed his shoulder with her free arm and proceeded to ram her knee into his groin.

Pain exploded through his loins and made his belly cramp. A soft shout escaped, because the Enchantress' upgrades to his physicality hadn't included making his groin invincible. Despite the pain, he squeezed her arm to prevent her from jerking away. The bone gave under the pressure. Her accompanying shout would have resulted in a full blown erection were it not for the spasms of agony still ripping his groin apart.

"Barton!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Oh God, Barton, help!"

He knew that name. Agent Clint Barton. Breath hissed through his teeth when her knee made contact with his groin again, and then the front door was being flung open, and Agent Barton raced out with his bow drawn and an arrow ready to be launched. Rather than pressing his advantage, Christian released her and melted back into the shadows. It wasn't as though he was a pro at this sort of thing. He was easily startled by Barton's preparedness and chose to return when he had a better advantage.

* * *

"Who the Hell was that?!" Jane shouted, arm cradled against her chest, cheeks red from the cold and the adrenaline of the situation.

Barton muttered something in a foreign language she couldn't hope to translate, returned his arrow to the quiver, and hooked his bow over the trunk of his body. "Christian Grey," he responded. "Long story. Suffice it to say I've dealt with him twice before, so I'd rather have a locked building between you and him. Were you hurt?"

"I think my arm's broken. How is any human man strong enough to just break a person's arm without even trying?" Breathing through the pain radiating up her arm was difficult.

"Don't know yet." Agent Barton settled a hand against the back of her shoulder and gave her a gentle push toward the building. "Try not to worry about that asshole. You're Thor's girlfriend, so we'll use every resource available in protecting you. We take care of our teammates' loved ones."

"No, no, no. Hold up there, Barton. I like Thor. I understand he needed to take care of business and get his brother back to Asgard rather than coming to see me, but I am not some starry-eyed yuppie sitting at a computer pining over a man who didn't so much as leave me a message. You know, take two seconds to whisper 'tell Jane I miss her,' into Erik's ear before whisking back to Asgard."

"We really going to stand out here in the snow arguing over the nature of your relationship with Thor while Grey is looking for another angle of attack?"

"Yes!"

"Priorities."

Her lips and eyes tightened, and she leaned slightly closer to pin him with a stern look with every intention of continuing the argument. The tension melted out of her when she realized he was right. "Priorities," she finally repeated before heading back toward the lab complex. "Grab the blankets and pillows from Monster's hood."

Warmth immediately enveloped her when she stepped back inside, the ache in her arm intensifying by leaps and bounds as adrenaline abandoned her.

"What happened?" Darcy demanded the second she stepped inside. The other woman rushed forward and started brushing away big flakes of snow that had piled up on Jane's head and shoulders from the continued snowfall.

"There was an intruder. My arm may be broken."

"Right, hospital. God, Saint Theresa's loves us. You know, it's a good thing you have excellent health insurance, otherwise…."

"Skip to the end of the rant."

"…..blah blah blah…Universal healthcare!"

Jane laughed a little. "God, don't make me laugh."

"Kesha has a song called _Blah Blah Blah_. Funny story. The only reason she has an album is because Snoop Dog loudly exclaimed in front of an audience that he would pay for her to record her own album if she sucked his…"

"Darcy," Jane interrupted.

"Yes, Jane?"

"You ramble about music when you're nervous and uncertain."

"I'm doing that again?"

"Yes."

"Right, hospital."

A cold gust of wind accompanied Barton opening the door and stepping back inside. "That truck of yours mobile? Your parking lot's a sheet of ice, and my rental won't get enough traction to make it to the nearest hospital."

"No, oil leak. I mean, maybe we could put a quart of oil in it and make it to the hospital, but do we want to find out with such drastic weather? The shop sure liked taking my money, but they didn't like doing their jobs. Alas, sled dogs aren't popular in this part of the country."

"If you'd taken it to the dealership mechanic in Nautton when you were supposed to instead of just dropping it off at Saylor's shop…" Darcy allowed the comment to trail off.

"I was distracted!"

"Because….science," Darcy interjected.

"Don't take that tone of voice with me, Darcy. I was on the cusp of technologically controlling a simulated wormhole and couldn't just drop what I was doing to head out to Nautton. Where were you last week?"

"Crawling through fifteen years worth of dust, cobwebs, and mouse droppings in search of the central sound system so you could be blessed with the iPod of win." Darcy pulled her trusty iPod-SHIELD had returned it along with the rest of her equipment after Thor had made it a condition of his permanent protection of Earth-from a pocket.

A heavy sigh puffed a tendril of hair away from her forehead, and Jane responded, "I suppose you're as passionate about music as I am about science."

"Ladies!" Barton's tone bordered on exasperation. "The nearest hospital is Saint Theresa's in Nautton, right?"

"Yes, but that's twenty minutes from here. There aren't any urgent care clinics in town either. The last one was leveled during the Destroyer's attack, and the company chose not to rebuild."

"Then we have to hole up here until the roads improve," Barton said. "We need to keep you warm and stable in the event shock crashes your vitals."

Darcy pigeon-toed her feet and glanced down at the kitchen tiles. "I was certified as an EMT and paid for my first three years of college working in Queens with the local squad. All we need are some sort of slats, and I can make sure your arm is straight and apply a splint."

Jane glanced over with a "WTF" expression painted all over her face. "How does one go from a career as an EMT to majoring in political science?"

"Couldn't take the stress," the other woman responded.

"Do it, Darcy," Barton commanded. "Then we stay vigilant in case that creeper returns, and when the roads are passable again, we're out of here. This place isn't defensible."

And because Darcy seemed thoroughly uncomfortable as the responsible type, she cracked, "Should we, like, all cuddle up in the same bed? Because I have the perfect jammies for just such an occasion." The other woman retrieved their first aide kit from a kitchen cabinet and indicated a chair with a sweep of her arm.

Jane paused, glancing back and forth between Darcy and the chair, because the idea of anyone messing with her arm without the benefit of strong drugs didn't sound remotely entertaining. In the end, she sat calmly, grasping her assistant's wrist when the woman reached for the sleeve of her sweater. "If I wake up with my foot sewn to my hand, I'm totally suing you for malpractice."

"Can I pay you in candy?"

* * *

A/N: Things are about to get real next chapter, but bear with me. I promise we'll have some fun again soon.

Next Chapter: Clint's call to Tasha turns disturbing. Christian and Amora are like hyenas and an unexpected visitor arrives


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Stepping out of Taylor's hospital room, Tasha answered the incoming call from Barton. "Clint," she said. Her glance darted down the hallway when someone's heart monitor blared a flat line, causing nurses to scramble from their station. She sidled toward a more private alcove.

"Romanoff," Clint returned softly.

The distinct difference in their greeting wasn't lost upon her and caused her lips to tighten. It had just been an offer of cohabitation! It wasn't as though she'd asked him to frigging marry her and have her fat little babies. "I don't know what crawled up your ass, Barton, but I've about had it up to here with your attitu…"

His voice was barely audible when he interrupted by saying, "We've got a situation developing in Puente Antiguo. You might need to mobilize the Avengers."

Tasha very nearly had to ask him to repeat himself so soft was his murmur. "Grey?"

"Yes. There was no sign of the regional agents who took custody of him upon the quinjet's landing in Nautton. Grey is MIA."

"How does someone with a debilitating spine injury go MIA?"

When he snorted, he used that sound Tasha immediately interpreted as the situation being so utterly ridiculous he wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own two eyes. "Beat's the fuck out of me, but the bastard showed up in Puente Antiguo and made an attempt on Jane Foster."

The curse was what ultimately set her on edge. He just didn't use that kind of language unless he was on the verge of losing his temper. "What do you mean he made an attempt on Doctor Foster? Clint, the man is paralyzed. He can't make an attempt on anyone."

"Well, not anymore apparently!" That was a real shout, and he made an audible effort to control his emotions with a long, deliberate breath.

"Stay focused," she encouraged.

"We're snowed in here at Doctor Foster's lab. Bastard shows up out of the blue and breaks her arm without intentionally wrenching it. I'm not kidding. There's no way he should have been able to break her arm like that."

"The Avengers will be in the wind in less than an hour to pick you up. Stay put and stay vigilant. Damn bastard evolved again."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," she muttered, dread and anger cramping her belly at the thought of Christian Grey becoming a T-Rex.

A frustrated breath punched from her lungs. May she be damned to spend an eternity babysitting for Octomom for not killing him when she'd had the chance. Twice. Why hadn't she learned her lesson the first time? She should have slipped her blade through his eye socket before Cap had given the order to secure him for transport. Clearly, old age was making her soft.

"Just stay put," she continued when she was able to speak without shouting the walls down. "And we seriously need to talk. This tension between us is driving me batty."

"There's nothing to talk about," said Clint.

"Really? Because I think there is. See, the standard response to an offer of cohabitation is either 'that sounds great' or 'I'm not ready for that step.' Your response is apparently to become cold and distant. Doesn't work like that, Barton. You can't talk me into getting emotional and then turn your emotions off like a light switch."

"You caught me off guard."

"See I might buy that excuse if you weren't still being snappish and distant. Despite my reputation, I am not the Avengers welcome wagon. You're not allowed to climb on whenever you want and then go cruise the boulevard in your Beamer when things get uncomfortable."

"I don't…" His voice was strained. "My issues have issues," he finally responded.

"You also don't get to pull a line out of Stark's playbook. Talk to me, Clint. Let's fix this before we wind up plastering posters of each other on our walls and throwing darts at them."

Suddenly, shattering glass could be heard on Clint's side of the connection and was immediately followed by feminine shouts of dismay and Barton yelling for the women to pull back. Not even enough time to arm themselves passed before a strange commotion took place that Tasha couldn't hope to decipher. A brief struggle was followed by an odd pulsating noise, waves of hollow energy rhythmically thrumming through the room much like when a change of altitude caused one's eardrums to pop. And then silence.

"Barton?" Tasha asked tremulously. "Barton, answer me."

Silence.

Her heart was pounding against her breast like the rising crescendo of a timpani drum. "Clint!" she shouted again, something in her voice totally unhinged as though she teetered upon the edge of completely losing her cool.

The deafening silence continued.

* * *

Agony burned bright and sharp behind her eyes when consciousness returned. Blood streamed over her brow, threatening to drip into her eyes and completely obliterate the scene unfolding in front of her. From Jane's position beneath a table and other nameless wreckage, she could see two pairs of legs step through the opening where plate glass had been shattered.

Breathing was difficult, and she experienced a stab of panic. Surely such terror equated to how a fish felt when it realized there was no returning to the water. Sound was slow to penetrate her foggy brain. At first, it was as though someone had stuffed cotton balls in her ears to muffle her senses, but she quickly reached the point of overload until her head was throbbing painfully and curling into a ball sounded like a grand idea.

Darcy and Clint.

The names popped into focus in her sluggish frontal lobe. She didn't dare move and attract attention from their intruders, but Jane quickly catalogued the situation from her prone position. Clint was lying motionless in the archway leading into the living space, his body awkward and slightly curled around the door jam. Darcy was in a corner twisted up with a chair and piles of printouts. She seemed unconscious.

"Kill Jane Foster, my love," purred a female voice.

"Ask me nicely," Christian responded in a hard tone.

Her head pounded more fiercely upon swinging it in the direction the voice had come from to find a blonde woman standing with Christian Grey. She was dressed in a glittering emerald dress. The cut and embroidery reminded her distinctly of Asgardian fashion. Christian and the stranger seemed to be having some sort of power struggle, the Asgardian cool and confident while he was intense and posturing in an obvious display of dominance.

"My love," intoned the stranger, the tips of two fingers stepping up his chest to tuck beneath his chin. "For this purpose did I give you great strength and durability. Kill her for me."

Christian was having none of it. He jerked his chin away from her. "Do not touch me. Regardless of your gift, you are only a woman. I do not take orders from women anymore."

The woman's lips turned down, eyes narrowing for half a heartbeat before her body language changed. Visibly, she became more submissive and flattered him by turning her face upward to look up at him with abject worship and fear. "Please, my love. This great honor would you do for me? For me, will you kill her?"

"I've never met you before. Why do you want to kill me?" Jane wheezed. Keep them talking, that was all she could do. Buy herself more time until Clint returned to consciousness or some miracle took place to save her scrawny hide.

"A bright future exists for Thor. Said bright future will be denied him as a result of becoming infatuated with you. Asgard, am I saving by destroying you."

"Oh." Jane just didn't know whether or not to believe her. "Well, as you can see, Thor's not here and hasn't been here for some time. I hardly think we're infatuated with each other anymore, so you're a bit late to the party."

"My love, tarry not in fulfilling your troth to me. An affront to all things Asgardian is her continued survival."

A desperate glance shot around the lab as she looked for any means of defense. Barton was gone. Her heart skipped a beat. The place where he'd been prone on the floor was empty with no sign as to where the agent had disappeared to. Typical.

Jane yelped, eyes widening when Christian stalked in her direction. All she could do was scramble backwards, hands quickly becoming cut up and bloody from coming in contact with ragged metal and broken bits of glass, but she was desperate by that point.

A miracle happened.

Clint dropped from the exterior rooftop, landing in a crouch. In one fluid motion, he came to his feet, legs braced apart, and released an arrow. The taut bowstring twanged softly in the silence. Seconds later, the arrow exploded, slightly off center, through Christian's throat from behind, eliciting a terrible shout of surprise and pain from the man.

Fear and absolute disbelief made her heart skip several beats when Christian wobbled on his feet, as though some macabre marionette controlled by a drunken puppeteer. When he righted his stance, he reached up to feel the arrow sticking out of his throat. He snapped it off.

That bore repeating.

The man freaking reached up and snapped the shaft of the arrow in half. There was a sickening sucking sound when he reached around to grasp the fletching and pulled the shaft from his throat. A gaping hole left behind quickly began sealing closed right before their eyes.

Strangled sounds of disbelief escaped Jane as her hand flew to her throat.

Christian turned to face Barton.

"Stop!" Jane shouted, heart in her throat when Christian stalked toward Barton. "You want me, come get me. I won't fight. Just leave Clint and Darcy out of this."

"Standing down's not in my job description," Clint said. "I don't know what miracle made you capable of walking again, but you take one more step in any direction, and we'll try one of my exploding arrows this time."

Grey smirked and swept his hand toward the stranger. "My new friend has many wondrous gifts. You would do well to speak respectfully in the presence of the Enchantress."

"A quick death will she be given, and concluded will be our business," the Enchantress said in a silky tone. "Stand not in defense of Jane Foster, and live to see the sunrise."

Brushing blood out of her eye, Jane finally forced herself to her feet to stand on trembling legs, but she tried not to betray her weakness. "Do as she says, Clint. I'm not going to be responsible for your death."

"That's not how this works," Clint responded.

"I don't care how this normally works. They want me. Let them have me and get Darcy to a hospital. Take care of her." Her voice was calm and unassuming despite the tremors making her belly feel as though it would empty itself all down her front.

"Listen to Miss Foster," implored Christian.

"Doctor Foster," she corrected.

Tense silence passed while Clint glanced back and forth between the pair, his arm steady as he held his bow drawn to its fullest. Finally, he said, "No. You want Jane, you gotta go through me to get her."

"As you wish," purred the Enchantress.

Shit suddenly got very real.

Lightning lit up the night sky, still leaden with heavy clouds, at the same time Enchantress surged in Clint's direction. Her fingers were already at work tracing patterns in the air, and he narrowly avoided a wave of green energy that erupted from her hand and blasted in his direction. There was just no way he was going to fend off the Enchantress and Christian at the same time when he was being deliberately herded farther into the parking lot.

Christian came in her direction, but with the gun locked away in the safe, she had nothing with which to defend herself and could only scramble away from him in a mad dash for the guest bathroom. If she was really lucky, a locked door would buy her enough time to worm through the bathroom window.

With her pounding arm and burning knee, she just couldn't muster more speed than a man juiced up on Asgardian mojo. Her pony tail was caught in his firm grip, and she was yanked to an immediate halt. All she could do was snatch up the nearest object, a vintage snow globe Darcy had found in the building's basement. She spun and cracked it against his skull with as much force as she could muster.

Out in the parking lot, a bolt of lightning cracked down dangerously close to Hobbiton, and for a few precious seconds, all action inside the lab stopped as Thor hit the ground on his feet, crimson cape billowing around his body in the gusty wind. His expression was enraged when he took in the unfolding scene, eyes locking on the Enchantress.

Chaos ensued. She bought her good knee up against Christian's groin while he was gaping at Thor, but this time, her knee impacted against a hard cup, causing _her_ to flinch and yelp rather than him.

"I'm sick of you females attempting to mangle my crotch!" he shouted.

"Yeah, well. Have you ever thought that maybe if you'd stop being a sleazy douche bag women wouldn't have to mangle your groin?"

She was suddenly talking to the air, lurching forward when his grip on her was inexplicably gone. For a few heartbeats, she could only blink owlishly, a dumbfounded expression on her face. Said face was whipped around in Thor's direction to see Mjolnir streaking toward Enchantress.

The bitch had hold of Clint's throat, trickles of blood on his cheek from her fingernails, when the atmosphere suddenly popped. In the wake of said popping, there was no Enchantress standing outside in the snow. There was no Enchantress, no Christian Grey, and no Clint Barton.

Jane sagged.

* * *

A/N: Methinks Natasha is going to break the world when she finds out. For all you Clintasha fans, you'll have to bear with me for a few chapters before we can get more Clintasha fun times.

Next Chapter: Darcy feels like Sebastian from _The Little Mermaid._ Natasha finds out Barton has been abducted.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Shivers wracked Jane's body when she dropped her cell phone on the kitchen table and said, "Ambulances from Nautton can't get through. Power lines were brought down by the ice and are blocking the only road into Puente Antiguo."

She glanced over to watch Thor stretch a large of sheet of plastic across the archway leading into the lab to somehow insulate them against the frigid temperatures. With the windows busted out, nothing stood between them and the elements. A wince reminded her how badly her body hurt when Thor accidentally left cracks in the wall using Mjolnir to tap in a nail and hold the sheet in place.

"Who was that flounder-faced bitch?" croaked Darcy, who was finally conscious and stretched out on one of the folding chaise lounges from their roof patio. The mound of blankets covering her shifted when she eased into a seated position.

"She is called Amora, the Enchantress," Thor responded. "It is said she studied magic under the great Karnilla, queen of the Norns, but no one knows for certain what her origins are."

"Apparently she came here to kill me because being friends with me will deprive you of a bright and glorious future. Do you have any idea what she means?"

"When dealing with the Enchantress, determining her true motives is mostly impossible. Her anger with you could as easily be stemmed from pure jealousy, as my desire to return here and see you has been no secret."

"Is she an ex?"

"An ex…" His brow furrowed slightly. "I do not understand."

"Did you date…" No, he probably wouldn't understand that terminology either, so she tried again. Her expression squirreled up when she tried to think of a colloquial way of stating her question. "Did the two of your court at some point in the past?"

"No, but whispered rumors claim she has designs upon the throne of Asgard. Removing you from my life may be her way of advancing herself closer to the throne."

"Funny that, because I'm presently mad at you and don't want to have anything to do with your throne or any other body attached body part," she quipped, tone souring.

"Such is as I anticipated when I failed to uphold my promise to return for you."

"I'll totally take whatever body part Jane passes on," Darcy said from inside her cocoon.

Jane chuckled once, but that just jerked her body and elicited another grimace of pain. A hand was pressed to her ribs. "Not that. I'm not an unreasonable person. You didn't return immediately so I assumed there was some good reason preventing you from doing so."

"Then tell me what actons of mine have wrought your anger and how I might offer recompense to rebuild your affection?"

She melted like cheap margarine when his expression immediately softened and turned earnest, and all she could do was extend her hand in his direction. Said hand was enfolded in the warmth of his own big palm when he hurried over and slipped into the chair next to hers.

"Maybe it sounds selfish of me, but you made zero effort to get a message to me when you saw Erik in New York. I just assumed you had moved on with your life since we last saw one another." And because the mature response was way too mature, she darted her eyes away and babbled, "I mean, we didn't know each other long, and I'm sure you have a bevy of gorgeous women fawning over you back on Asgard, and one can't expect you to put your life on hold for almost a year just because some Earthling acted way too brashly and kissed you, and…"

"Jane," he purred, his voice whiskey-roughened. "There may be a bevy of gorgeous women fawning over me on Asgard, but none hold candle to you."

A soft cooing sound was muffled inside the cocoon of blankets surrounding Darcy.

Heat and color rushed into Jane's head so quickly she was momentarily faint. If she were cheap margarine, she would have evaporated in that moment. "See, you're not allowed to say things like that to me!" she cried. "Because you say things like that, and I completely lose my train of thought and turn into an extra from High School Musical instead of being a confident and driven scientist!"

"Translation: Keep saying things like that to me, Thor, because they make me all gooey and womanly inside, and I'm not used to those kinds of emotions."

"You're confusing him, Darcy."

Thor smirked and leaned back. "No, I think I follow quite well. Complimenting you makes you uncomfortable in a good fashion, as you aren't used to being unable to control your emotions. I will endeavor to desensitize you by complimenting you often."

Outwardly, her brows flattened. Inwardly, she was consumed by a torrent of the Warm Fuzzies that made her feel like tap dancing on the table.

"Sending word with Erik of course crossed my mind. So many things need to be said between us, but with travel between Asgard and Midgard so uncertain, more promises could have been broken. I didn't want to ignite something in you that would go unrequited if my return to Midgard proved impossible."

"Don't try to protect me like that. Don't ever attempt to shield me emotionally based on what you think is best for me. I don't believe in things like love at first sight or soul mates, but I'm not a coward, and I never gave up trying to find you."

"Will you just shut up and kiss her already?" Darcy interjected. The cocoon moved, and she eased the covers down from her head. "That girl has done everything but doodle little hearts all over her journal pining for you."

"I have not!" cried Jane. And more color rushed into her cheeks. God, she hoped to some day be able to act like an adult woman instead of a gushy teenager around the man.

Thor smirked a little while glancing back and forth between the women. "Have you pined for me, Jane?"

A blush was followed by awkwardness. She couldn't even look him directly in the eyes nor wipe the giddiness from her face. Because clearly Thor existed to turn her world upside down. "Let's be practical, Thor. We've spent a couple of days together in total."

"You know, I'm starting to feel like Sebastian on _The Little Mermaid_," Darcy interjected into the silence. When she spoke again, it was in a song-song voice with a bad Sebastian impression. "Ew-whoa-oh Go on and kiss the girl."

Thor couldn't have caught the pop culture reference, but he still laughed.

And then there were imaginary stars and fireworks and explody things in Jane's present when the Asgardian prince leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. She touched her fingertips to his cheek, heart pounding and body suddenly keenly aware of how nice his lips were. When he pulled back, she felt like Jack Nichalson's Joker, a smile permanently carved onto her face. Words completely escaped her.

"You're cold," he murmured. He rolled to his feet and unfurled a blanket from the pile she'd brought in for Clint, carefully draping it around her shoulders to bundle her up against the frigid temperatures.

Comfortable silence settled over the trio, time in which she made at eyes at him, her gaze roaming over his handsome face as though trying to imprint him so deeply into her memory she would be able to remember every crease and angle of his visage should he disappear again.

"So how did you get back?" she asked a few minutes later.

"As it happened when Loki schemed to rule Midgard, my father mustered enough energy to open a portal between Asgard and Midgard. He was reluctant to do so, as there are skirmishes with Svartalfheim consuming his attention. Opening a portal severely depletes his energy, and he could not risk being that weakened unless the danger against you was mortal."

Further conversation was forestalled when a whistling sound outside the building attracted everyone's attention. Jane stiffened. Of course she was immediately concerned. Dread rooted through her belly, and despite Thor's protests, she forced herself back to her feet, keenly aware of the fact Clint had been taken because he'd been defending her.

An impact outside in the parking lot preceded the sound of broken glass crunching underfoot, which allowed them to chart the intruder's progress as he or she made their way into the wrecked lab. Movement then paused. With the electricity out, they couldn't even make out the intruder's silhouette against the plastic sheet separating them, so there was no way to tell if their guest was friend or foe. Going with "foe" was probably a safe bet.

The air practically crackled when Thor called Mjolnir to hand and indicated for Jane to remain with Darcy. There was nothing subtle about the way he strode toward the plastic separating the living space form the lab. His body was solid and movements confident.

Moments later, a familiar voice sounded in the darkness. "Anyone here?" asked Tony Stark. Even the isolated locals of Puente Antiguo had internet access, and Stark was certainly plastered all over the internet.

Tension fled from the atmosphere so quickly Jane almost sat down where she stood. If Tony was here, the rest of the Avengers weren't far behind, and they would be able to help her find and retrieve Clint. Naturally, she now felt terrible for having greeted the agent in the parking lot with a gun.

Thor swept the sheet of plastic aside and boomed, "My friend! Seeing you again is most pleasing, Metal Man!"

Stark appeared in the archway and flipped the faceplate of his armor up. "Big guy! You know, I've been trying to get ahold of you, but Asgard doesn't seem to have any kind of satellite communications. You guys totally need to look into satellite technology."

A small smile tugged at Jane's lips when the two men attempted to embrace. Yes, attempted was the appropriate way to describe the awkwardness that ensued. Between Thor's armor and the Iron Man suit, hugging just wasn't an easy feat, so Thor ended up slapping Tony on the back with a solid thwack.

"Gird your loins," said Stark upon dropping his voice. "Tasha's inbound with the rest of the Avengers team, and she's pissed. ETA thirty minutes. We've got thirty minutes to Tasha-proof the place, because when she gets here and doesn't see Barton, she's going to explode."

* * *

Tasha was grim-faced. She jerked slightly when their quinjet touched ground in a vacant lot a block from Doctor Foster's lab and immediately released her chair harnesses. Their pilot had been reluctant to land given the amount of snow piling up everywhere. There had to be close to eight inches already, and still more was falling from the heavily laden skies. She constructed a mental picture of crossing New Mexico off her imaginary list of places to build a summer home.

Streaks of lighter gray were just brightening the horizon when she jogged down the ramp after Captain America and ran across the distance separating them from Foster's property where the situation looked grim. Ducking inside, she quickly caught sight of Thor and Iron Man, who were putting themselves to work moving busted equipment out of the way.

"Where is he?" Tasha demanded. "How badly is he hurt?"

Thor was the first to respond when he said, "Agent Barton has been abducted by an enemy of Asgard called The Enchantress."

The news settled like a ton of coal. She turned her back on her comrades, fingers tightening into a fist while she made a Herculean attempt to wrangle her emotions back into some semblance of order. This! This was precisely why she'd been so against a sexual relationship with Clint Barton. Barton plus danger equaled a driving need to find him and return him to safety. Barton plus orgasm based pair bonding plus danger equaled Tasha wanting to break the world to get him back.

"Be calm, Tash," Stark said.

"Do not call me 'Tash,'" she hissed. "Barton is the only one allowed to call me that."

"Whoa. Okay. This is me stepping back off your dick."

"Agent Romanoff does not have…" Thor stopped in mid sentence, and Tasha turned in time to see Stark making a cutting motion across his neck.

"How do we find and liberate him?" she demanded of Thor.

"The Enchantress is a worthy opponent capable of manipulating magic. Her skills very nearly rival Loki's, so finding her and freeing our comrade will be difficult."

"While we're on the subject? How is the old Lokster?"

"His mind is much calmer than when he was here on Midgard, but he continues to struggle with coming to terms with himself. Our father grapples with determining the appropriate punishment."

"Loki hasn't even been tried yet?" Steve asked.

"Teaching Loki the wrongness of his actions is not so simple as stuffing him into a cage and confining him for a given amount of time. We have cages that would contain him, but his bitterness and anger would only grow with confinement."

"Tell me he's not up there running around free as a bird, sipping on a mocha latte, and gardening," said Stark.

Gardening seemed like such an absurd thing to say about Loki even Natasha turned to stare at Stark. The mental image of Loki running around in a flower print apron with gardening gloves didn't really do a damn thing to make her feel better given the present circumstances.

"He is my brother," Thor emphasized. "His mind is disturbed given the life-altering news he received, and I am partly culpable for his current inability to think rationally."

"No, at some point, a man has to be responsible for his own actions. Regardless of whether or not you contributed to his…"

"Barton is missing," Tasha interrupted in as even a tone as she could manage. The tremble in her voice should have indicated to them just how close she was to completely losing it. "No offense, Thor, but I don't give a rat's ass about your brother or his punishment until such a time as Barton has been found alive."

Silence.

The woman who emerged from a back room was small even by Tasha's stature, who was of average height and solidly built. Jane Foster. Doctor Foster was tiny and barely reached Thor's chin. She crossed some imaginary line in the sand to stand next to Natasha, at which point, she said, "I'm with Agent Romanoff. We should concentrate on finding Clint."

"You are not helping us do anything," Tasha commented. Her chest tightened. "You are going to a hospital to have your arm set and then straight into protective custody. Anything less, and our attention will be divided between protecting you and finding Clint."

And if she was honest with herself, Tasha was this close to blacking the good doctor's eye for no better logic than because Clint had been abducted defending Doctor Foster. In her own twisted mind, that meant Foster was indirectly responsible for Clint's disappearance, so getting Foster out of her sight until such a time as she'd managed to cool down a little was a grand idea and would prevent an inter-planetary incident. Thor would certainly take offense to his girlfriend being leaped upon and pounded into the dirt.

* * *

A/N: I find Thor and Jane ridiculously cute together. I really enjoyed how she was portrayed in the movie; a confident scientist uncertain about how to behave when presented with male attention. Heck, I'd turn giddy and mushy too from his attention. Anyhow, I hope I'm portraying that strange duality properly.

Next Chapter: Another attempt on Jane's life produces unexpected results. Natasha expresses her fears to Captain America.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rainbows, feathers, stars, and glitter practically exploded from Christian when his string of good luck continued. Three SHIELD agents were stationed outside Jane Foster's hospital room. Oh sure, the Avengers hadn't been completely stupid. They had evacuated her to Mercy North in Albuquerque rather than simply taking her to Saint Theresa's in Nautton in an attempt to throw him off their scent, but they continued to operate on the belief he was still human with all a human's weaknesses. Finding his prey hadn't been as difficult as they'd hoped.

The hour was late. White and cream and ivory and eggshell and pearl halls were dimmed in all directions when he skulked into an unoccupied guest room and waited for Amora to take her position. Anticipation heightened his senses. A television across the hall had been left on while the occupant snored. Squeaking emanated from a cart being pushed slowly down the hallway. He swore he could hear a person's heart beating through the wall separating him from another guest room, heightening the sense of anticipation thrumming through his body.

Then it happened. Distant, feminine, laughter attracted the attention of the armed agents. Soft footfalls resonated in his ears when two of said agents padded down the hall to check out the disturbance, leaving the entrance to Foster's room guarded by only one man. One man against the might of Christian Grey? They certainly hadn't learned their lesson yet.

He slipped from his hiding spot, a bright smile lighting up his face when his good fortune took a turn for the better. The lone agent had his back to Grey's side of the hallway and was watching earnestly for any sign of his returning comrades. His lack of attention was his death. A quick wrench of the agent's head produced a terrible popping sound as the man's neck gave and destroyed his spinal cord. And then Christian ducked into the darkness that was Jane's suite.

Into the rabbit's nest.

His quarry slept peacefully, bare legs tangled with the blanket and one arm beneath her pillow. An unwieldy red cast weighted down her other arm, and for a moment, Christian merely stood in the darkness watching her. Jane reminded him of his crack whore of a mother. Her dark hair was of a similar coloring, and only several inches separated Jane and his mother in height.

Breath rasped in his throat. The distinct urge to cause her pain curled his hand into a fist as he found himself anticipating the sound of her cries. He wanted to beat her. Already, he could envision her bent over a desk, her bottom bared and ready to receive the lash of his favorite whip until she was bloody and sobbing for relief.

Steps separated him from fulfilling his debt to Amora when Jane's eyes suddenly popped open. She was immediately aware and rolled to her feet on the opposite side to put the expanse of the bed between them. The rapid flutter of her pulse increased with her level of anxiety and served only to excite him all the more.

"Tony told me all about you, you pervert, how you've already tried to beat and rape two women. One of these days, you're going to pick the wrong woman. I hope she has razor blades imbedded in her vagina when you do."

"For you, I have a different purpose in mind," he whispered. "Before, it wasn't personal. I would have killed you quickly to dispense with my debt. That's not the case anymore. Now, I will treat myself to the delight of hearing you scream."

"You're a sick man."

"Fair point, well made, Doctor Foster."

The upper hand still resided firmly in his court, because she would have to go past him to get to the door and attain freedom. His smile could only be described as self-assured. And then the entire situation suddenly took a very dramatic turn.

Groping her way through the darkness, perhaps to lure him away from his comfortable position in front of the door, the woman suddenly stumbled. A shout of distress accompanied the flailing of her arms as she sought desperately to regain her balance. She hanged there for what seemed like a full second before pitching to the side. Jane smacked hard against the floor with a yelp of pain upon landing on her broken arm.

Christian froze. Reality throbbed in and out of focus as his breathing unhinged and became erratic. An instant erection weighed painfully on his loins, and then and there, he knew Jane Foster was destined to be his. She was the woman he was meant to spend the rest of his life with. In the blink of an eye, his entire demeanor changed.

"Don't be ashamed or afraid, my dear. There is nothing wrong with having been dazzled off your feet by my supreme perfection."

She didn't respond. She couldn't respond given how much pain radiated through her arm after landing on it, but he was a patient man. He would wait for her to collect herself before gathering her up to convey her back to Seattle where he would have a minister waiting.

Out of the blue, a squirrel darted past his feet. Said occurrence was so absolutely ridiculous and unexpected he didn't hear anyone approaching from behind before a heavy weight clobbered him in the back of the head. Stars swam behind his eyes and blackness enveloped him before sinking to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

Natasha was a master when it came to manipulating emotions, both her own and that of her mark, but no amount of practice could prepare her for becoming totally unhinged. She stared wordlessly out the window of the quinjet streaking them toward Colorado Springs where Barton's GPS tracker placed his last known location. Their pilot knew better than to engage her in conversation. Even the rest of the Avengers were giving her space.

Later, when Barton had been returned safely and her emotions weren't running away like an unstoppable locomotive, she would be grateful for their intuitive decision to leave her the Hell alone. For now, all she could concentrate on was not screaming her abject denial that something might be wrong with Clint.

All logic insisted that the chances of him still being alive were miniscule. Why keep him alive? SHIELD didn't negotiate with terrorists. Director Fury would never authorize handing Doctor Foster over in exchange for Clint. There was literally only one good reason the Enchantress would bother keeping him alive; the information he could provide concerning SHIELD's assets, and Clint would sooner make himself a eunuch with a rusty handsaw than give up SHIELD information.

So if, by some miracle, he wasn't dead at that very moment, he would be shortly.

And she'd been concerned about something so trivial as whether or not he would cohabitate with her. Natasha quickly brushed a hand under her eye to wipe away a stray drop of moisture. This was so much worse than when he'd been compromised by Loki.

A click from her communication earpiece caused her to visibly jerk before the head of Doctor Foster's security detail, Agent Martinez, came through saying, "Grey is in custody."

Her posture straightened, and she pressed a finger against her earpiece to seat it more firmly in her canal. "Repeat."

"Christian Grey is in custody. There was an attempt made on Doctor Foster at Mercy North. The female perpetrator escaped, but Squirrel Girl overpowered and restrained Grey."

Shock stopped her racing mind dead in its tracks as though slamming into a brick wall. Were it not for the harness restraints, she may have fallen right out of her chair, and then she realized something after the initial moment of shock hearing Grey was in custody. "Squirrel… Girl? Is she a superhero or a petting zoo attraction?"

"Director Fury can give you her particulars. She was in the area and willing to reinforce Doctor Foster's protection detail. Given the nature of Grey's sudden evolution, we needed all the strength we could possibly get.

"Squirrel Girl," she repeated again to cement the name more firmly in her mind. "You know what, if she managed to bring Grey into custody alive, she can call herself the Dazzling Ditzy Dizzy Dancer for all I care. Where is Grey now?"

"We're holding him at our Southwestern regional HQ in Albuquerque. He's cooperating for the time being, but I wouldn't count on that lasting. Something about demanding to be reunited with his fiancée."

"Now there is the delusional S.O.B I'm used to dealing with," she muttered. "Doctor Foster's condition and whereabouts?"

"Alive and well. We've moved her and Miss Lewis to an unnamed facility while they await transport to Avengers Tower as per Director Fury's command."

"Don't suppose there was any sign of Agent Barton," she breathed. That would be too much to hope for, but she had to ask.

"No. Sorry."

Ten tons of bricks could have landed on her and produced the same effect as Martinez's denial. Of course there'd been no sign of Clint. Any hope in her expression was squashed quickly enough, so when she ended the communication with a terse "Hook into this channel to stay in constant communication contact until further notice. Romanoff out," she unhooked her harnesses and stepped into the back.

The Avengers-minus Bruce Banner and Bucky Barnes, who were both seeing to personal business-were gathered there. Thor and the captain were silent, but Stark had been keeping up a litany of chatter since they'd launched. Tony seemed incapable of tolerating silence for longer than the five minutes.

"Come on, Cap. What's Thor's superhero theme song?"

Judging by Steve's expression, the question had been asked multiple times. Rolling his eyes Heavenward, as though to pray for patience, he finally said, "I don't know, Stark. What is Thor's superhero theme song?"

"The Th'Oreal jingle of course!" Silence. "Get it?" More silence. "Guys, come on. We're all worried about Barton, but that's no excuse for being sticks in the mud."

"Stark, back off," Tasha said through gritted teeth.

"Or what?"

Her teeth ached by that point from gritting them so hard. "You are diametrically opposed to shutting the Hell up and letting people embrace their own thoughts. Newsflash: You're the only one here capable of joking while one of our team members is in serious danger."

Tony's expression tightened a fraction of a centimeter toward completely serious and said, "Because there couldn't possibly be any other reason I might crack jokes at a time like this. Nope. Tony Stark's an immature douche bag incapable of feeling empathy for a lost teammate. Natasha Romanoff said so."

Rearranging his face was right there on the edge of control when it suddenly struck her what he was talking about. She took a step back. Later, she would apologize for jumping on his case when he was obviously attempting to lighten the mood to keep them from all going crazy. For now, she could barely think straight let alone form an intelligible apology.

The moment of tension passed, and she quickly explained the situation in Albuquerque. Her recounting of _"Squirrel Girl To The Rescue"_ produced varying expressions of disbelief bordering on the comical. Because there apparently existed a superhero who went by the moniker "Squirrel Girl." That had to make everyone's list of The Most Ridiculous Thing I've Ever Heard.

"No, I get it," exclaimed Stark after a moment of stunned silence. "Her downstairs muff could audition to be the next spokesperson for Miracle Gro."

"Must everything be a vulgarity with you?" asked Steve.

"Buddy, you haven't heard anything yet when it comes to my vulgarity. Red didn't allow me to get to your superhero theme song."

"What is Captain Rogers' theme song?" Thor asked with furrowed brow.

Tony literally preened, shifting Iron Man's posture until he was standing with chest thrust forward and hands on hips before responding, "The Star Spangled Boner."

Steve went through a series of expressions in rapid succession. He rolled his eyes to stare at the ceiling followed by squeezing them closed. He then concluded with an expression that clearly conveyed he wasn't at all surprised.

Thor obviously had no idea why that particular theme song would amuse Tony as much as it did. His expression remained impassive.

Tasha didn't laugh. Her face didn't even twitch toward amusement. She remained rooted to the spot, incapable of experiencing anything but the gnawing sense of worry and heartbreak slowly creeping into her chest. Deciding between continuing to Colorado Springs and reversing direction to Albuquerque was impossible when either action could simply be a waste of time.

Once again, she drew dangerously close to that point of no return where an epic temper tantrum would endanger the hull integrity of the quinjet when Captain Rogers suddenly placed a hand on her shoulder, giving said shoulder a small squeeze.

"Stark, you and Thor continue on to Colorado Springs and scour the area for clues as to Barton's whereabouts. Agent Romanoff and myself will take the quinjet back to Albuquerque to interview Mister Grey. If we're lucky, we can drag Barton's location out of him."

Relief made her take a very deliberate breath to bolster her flagging control, and she whispered, "I'll drag the information out of him. He'll wish his ancestors had been born infertile by the time I'm through with him."

"Nobody get on Red's bad side." Tony paused for a heartbeat before continuing, "We'll find him, Natasha. We're not going to rest until Agent Barton's so sick of being wallowed on he'll invest in a suit of medieval armor to hold us at bay."

"Fear not, Agent Romanoff. Anthony and I will diligently search this spring located in Colorado on your behalf. No stone will be left unturned."

"Doth Father knowest thou speaketh like Ye Olde English Dictionary? And it's Colorado Springs. Humans don't name locations 'the newly constructed York.' It's just New York."

The two men continued bantering back and forth until the ramp was lowered in mid-flight. Moments later, they launched themselves from the back of the jet, Tony with a bright flash of his thrusters and Thor with a violent whirl of Mjolnir, and quickly disappeared from sight. Silence permeated the interior in the wake of their leaving.

Wordlessly, Tasha reached up to grip the hand Steve continued resting on her shoulder to somehow silently thank him for stepping up and making the decisions when she was incapable of doing so. That was why he was team leader. That was why the Avengers, down to the last man, would follow him into the gates of Hell if necessary.

"You've got to remain hopeful, Agent Romanoff. Giving up hope will only result in your mind and decisions becoming more muddled with unfounded grief."

And for some reason, it all came gushing out in a display of verbal diarrhea the likes of which Natasha Romanoff had never been inclined toward. "We had a huge fight before he left for New Mexico. It was stupid. I mentioned cohabitation, and he didn't take it well. Anyhow, things were said. If he dies, he'll die with that on both our consciences."

"People say things in the heat of the moment they don't mean. Doesn't change how much they love one another. I guarantee Barton, wherever he is, is thinking the same thing. He's thinking that if he dies, you'll be left behind believing he died angry with you."

Finally, she squeezed Steve's hand and released him. "Love is for children, Captain."

"Right. I forgot you're as uncomfortable with emotions as Stark is. Being closed off, protecting yourself from the possibility of being emotionally hurt? That's easy. Admitting you love someone takes real strength."

"You're team leader, not a walking Hallmark movie."

Steve's brow knit in confusion, clearly unable to grasp the reference, but then he smoothed his appearance. "You know, I'd give anything to call up my girl and tell her how much I love her. It's too late for me. She died years ago before I was even found in the ice. Take the chance, Romanoff. Take it now, or by God, you will regret it tomorrow. You'll wake up drenched in sweat from nightmares you'll regret it so much."

Though she said nothing, Rogers had touched a place in her, a place buried deep down beyond the light of day that hadn't been touched since Alexi. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth before silently reaching over to squeeze the captain's hand.

* * *

A/N: I've been struggling with this chapter for a while. I had to carry on Christian's psychosis about clumsiness, but Natasha has been in my ear screeching "Keeel it with fire!" Impatient lass that she is. As always, thank you for reading and I treasure your comments.

Next Chapter: Intermission: Christian Grey Vs. Squirrel Girl Because who can resist Squirrel Girl?


	23. Intermission: Christian Vs Squirrel Girl

Intermission:

Christian Grey Vs. Squirrel Girl

Chapter Twenty-Three

His head hurt. He couldn't remember a time when his head had ever hurt so badly before. The world around him seemed to dance and sway, and that was only the beginning of his discomforts. A jerk of his arms rattled the restraints being used to bind his hands behind the chair back, and they weren't just normal cuffs. He could have broken standard issue cuffs with a few tugs of his super powered frame, but these restraints refused to give in the face of his power. They were being careful with him.

Which meant they were learning their lesson and would prove more difficult to defeat in future. The knowledge turned Christian's lips down in a marked frown. But there was still an ace up his sleeve, a card he could play to secure his desires all in one go. All he needed to do was speak to his lovely Jane. Sadly, he didn't have her contact information.

The door opening jerked his head up from his chest. Surprise registered on his face upon seeing the diminutive woman who stepped inside. She wore one of those hideous faux fur coats, but the sleeves had been removed to turn it into a makeshift vest. Beneath the vest, she wore a gray thermal shirt and a pair of ratty jeans. Faux fur boots reached her calves. However, her most notable distinction was the three foot squirrel tail growing from the base of her spine.

"What deranged lumberjack camp did you crawl from?" he demanded in a haughty tone.

She made a clicking sound with tongue against the back of teeth. A pouch at her waist moved, and a squirrel thrust its head from inside. "Tsk tsk, Mister Grey. Let's keep a respectful tone when in the presence of The Mighty Squirrel Girl."

Not just anything could strike him speechless, but he was stunned to silence. "Squirrel Girl?" he repeated with clear dubiousness in his tone.

"Funny how many people say the same thing. I say 'What up, Home Dog. Squirrel Girl's in da hizzouse.' And they say 'Squirrel Girl?' Yes, Squirrel Girl. Say hello to my weetle squirrely fwiend. This is Monkey Joe."

"Squirrel Girl…"

"Is this gonna be an issue?" she asked while hopping up to sit Indian style on her side of the table. "'Cause if it is, you can totally call me 'Terminator' instead."

Regaining his wits after that introduction took some doing, but he wasn't about to be undone by a sideshow freak. Tightening his lips, he turned his head to a cocky angle. "Your name means nothing to me. I demand to speak with Doctor Jane Foster."

"Said the wolf to the little piggy it wanted to eat for supper."

"You will allow me communication with my fiancée. I've not been arrested nor read my Miranda rights, so you have no legal standing when it comes to preventing me from having communication with her."

"Um.." She darted her glance toward the door as though suddenly uncertain. "You…um…do know Jane Foster hates your guts, right? I'm sorry to have to be the one to break this to you, but Jane would rather you endure death by a million paper cuts than marry you."

"Lies. You are lying the same way they lied to Virginia and Jennifer in order to turn them against me. I don't understand why SHIELD has decided to make themselves my enemy, but you will not interfere in my relationship with Jane."

A moment of silence passed before the chit gasped, obviously having just figured something out, and thrust a finger in his direction. "Oh I get it! You're one of those Facebook posts with a picture of Willy Wonka that says 'you're a special kind of stupid!'"

"What?" His features tightened, because he did not like being thrown off axis. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't use Facebook. Facebook is for unintelligent nobodies."

"See, people who use Facebook like to put up funny pictures with captions written…"

"I literally do not care. Now, you will either put me in touch with Jane, or we have nothing more to say to one another."

"Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum, aisle one," she said, her whisper barely audible. "Okay, I'm going to be very frank with you, because you're a special little snowflake. Jane Foster is not your fiancée. As a matter of fact, you've twice tried to kill her and would have abducted her tonight if I hadn't stopped you."

"Stop attempting to toy with my mind!" he shouted, real anger causing his body to tense and pull against his restraints.

"Okay," she chimed whilst tilting her head toward the corner and widening her eyes. She blew out a small, breathy whistle.

Monkey Joe popped from Squirrel Girl's pouch to clamor onto the table where it lifted onto hind legs and started chattering. Forepaws were tucked up beneath its chin.

The girl called for silence by lifting a finger in his direction while saying, "Excuse me one second." Her attention then returned to her squirrel. "Really? You can't hold it until we leave? I mean, I did warn you this would happen. You should have gone before we came inside."

"Are you speaking to that filthy animal?"

When the girl lifted her glance in his direction again, there was real rancor behind her eyes. She hissed, "He is not filthy, you gutless little worm." Her attention returned to her animal, and she stroked a finger over the squirrel's head. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart. He's just a big old meanie and doesn't understand you the way I do."

"Because of course she can speak to squirrels," he muttered.

"Monkey Joe begs your pardon, but he has to potty, and since we don't want to stain SHIELD carpets…"

His eyes narrowed when her comment trailed off, because he wasn't at all certain about her meaning. Disgust and dread lodged in his throat when Monkey Joe scampered up onto Christian's shoulder, making the meaning of Squirrel Girl's comment quite clear.

"I demand you get this filthy beast off me!" he shouted.

"Ask me nicely and call Monkey Joe your sweetheart."

His lips sealed closed mutinously.

"Suit yourself."

Abject disbelief caused Christian's mouth to drop open when Monkey Joe leaped onto the crown of his head and nosed around. Seconds later, warm liquid dribbled through his hair and onto his scalp. All he could do, the only way he could possibly defend himself, was by shouting the roof down and flinging his head about in an attempt to throw the beast to the floor. Because nothing seemed to be going his way lately, the beast dug its claws in and remained firmly rooted. His attempts at self-preservation resulted solely in his head pounding harder than before.

"Get it off me!" he screeched. "Your damned beast just urinated on me!"

"Oops? I do declare, it must have been an accident. You scared poor little Monkey Joe, and he just couldn't control himself."

Rising blood pressure caused his face to heat, and he was in the process of attempting to break his restraints yet again when there were suddenly voices outside the door. The handle clicked, allowing the newcomers entrance, and then Natasha Romanoff stepped inside. A smile curled Christian's lips.

* * *

A/N: A more appropriate punishment for Christian Grey than I could have ever thought up on my own. I was shocked to discover the existence of Squirrel Girl a couple of years ago, and when I needed another cameo, she was at the top of my list.

Next Chapter: Christian dangles Clint's whereabouts over Natasha's head to manipulate the situation. Jane has to choose between safety and helping in the push to find Agent Barton.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty Four

"Thank you, Squirrel Girl. We'll take it from here," Steve said with an inclination of his head in the girl's direction. Not even an ounce of surprise at seeing Squirrel Girl's appearance registered in the captain's face.

"Good luck with this one," she chimed. "We were just debating as to whether he was a special little snowflake or a special kind of stupid. My findings are inconclusive. I'll be around if you need anymore help." She then swept from the room, a squirrel leaping down from Christian's head and scampering after her.

Calm. Clapping eyes on Christian caused the immediate desire to leap across the table and break every bone in his face. Maybe he hadn't personally abducted Clint. Maybe he was a puppet. Maybe the Enchantress was solely responsible for pulling his strings, but he was there in front of her. It was only natural she wanted to unleash every ounce of rancor onto his flesh.

So Natasha needed calm. Her motions were even when she pulled a chair back from the table. They were measured upon folding herself into said chair. There wasn't even a slight tremble in her hands when she clasped them together on the tabletop, and her gaze was unwavering when she made and held eye contact with him.

"Agent Romanoff. We finally meet again," he purred.

Silence stretched between them. Though she allowed herself to blink naturally, she glanced neither to the left nor the right and only permitted her lips to cock a fraction toward a smile while waiting for Christian's ultimate submission. That was the goal, of course, to discomfit him with her certainty and prove her dominance.

Body language revealed his changing emotions. Finally, he broke eye contact by glancing in the captain's direction. His posture sagged, and while he fought to remain impassive, his expression was clearly uncomfortable. It was remarkable what one, unwavering glance could do to another person's psyche.

Now that he was off kilter, she said, "I will ask you one question. You will answer truthfully and to the fullest extent of your knowledge. If you fail to respond truthfully, I will use any means necessary to play upon your fears until you correct your answer. Am I understood?"

His glance darted toward the captain again. "There is no need for your emotional games. Our goals have been united in a common interest; protecting Jane Foster. I will spare no expense and refuse no personal cost to keep my fiancée safe."

Only decades of training and practice kept her calm façade from crumbling when he dropped that bombshell. A few seconds passed while she collected her thoughts into some semblance of order again.

Finally, she responded, "Surprising news considering you've thrice attempted to kill her. Would you care to elaborate on how and why she suddenly became engaged to you?"

"She hasn't officially accepted my proposal yet, but it's only a matter of time. My feelings for her have changed. The Enchantress was clouding my emotions."

"So you want to help us protect her against the Enchantress' murderous designs. Why should we trust you? How do we know this isn't some plot to gain access to Doctor Foster?"

"Because I have something you want." His body language changed abruptly, his posture becoming more erect and confident and head tilting to a cocky angle. "Clint Barton is alive."

When she'd danced with Loki, she'd allowed a miniscule of emotion-fear, uncertainty, horror-to become visible on her face. Now, she employed the same trick, allowing very real excitement and relief to be openly displayed for a fraction of a second before shutting it away again to make him think her façade was cracking against her will.

"And you will give us truthful information about Clint Barton's whereabouts if we allow you to become part of Jane's protection detail. Is that the game you're playing, Mister Grey?"

"This is not a game, I assure you. Amora will kill Jane. She's toying with you right now, forcing you into a game of cat and mouse, and she won't hesitate to use Barton against you in order to obtain her end goals."

"I didn't ask about her game. I want to know what your game is."

"Keeping Doctor Foster alive for the foreseeable future and ensuring the Avengers don't muck about with yet another of my relationships. I will never forgive you for turning Virginia and Jennifer against me."

"Do you honestly believe they loved you? Do you really believe I'm the one who turned them against you?"

"I know it. Virginia was playing hard to get in her hotel suite, but she was right on the edge of giving herself to me. Jennifer was hovering on the brink of being my wife when the Avengers showed up to the warehouse."

"You're even more delusional than I suspected."

"I don't care what you think of me."

"Touche. Here's the problem. How do I know you won't feed me false information and then disappear with Doctor Foster? For all I know, you're still working with the Enchantress and attempting to manipulate me."

"That's a chance you'll have to take if you want to see Barton alive again. My deal is simple. Jane Foster for Clint Barton. Turn her over into my custody, and I will tell you where Barton is being held."

"SHIELD doesn't negotiate with the lives of the innocent. Barton signed up for this life and knows the consequences," she ground out. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. "No matter the personal cost to me, I will not hand over Doctor Foster."

"Then Amora will kill him and mail you his skin wrapped up with a pretty bow."

She leaned slightly forward rather than giving him the satisfaction of seeing her emotional response. "And you prove yourself to be lower than the slime trail left behind by a disease-ridden snail. I knew you were a rapist, an abuser, and a manipulator of the lowest denominator, but I didn't take you for a murderer."

"Not by my hands will Barton be murdered."

"Conspiracy to commit murder is the same as having ganked him yourself. That happens, and you don't walk out of here a free man, Chrisitian."

"Then we're at an impasse, because Barton's location is the only trump I have in my hand that will prevent you from interfering with yet another of my promising relationships."

"We're talking about a man's life," Steve suddenly interjected. "How can you put a man's life ahead of your personal relationships?"

"You'd be surprised the lengths a man will go to for love. Your choice is really a very simple one. Place Jane in my custody where she will be safe and secure Barton's location."

"You want to make a trade, Grey? I'll make a trade. I'll…" Her venom was brought to a halt when Steve cleared his throat. The look she leveled on the captain wasn't altogether pleasant, but could she be blamed for being unable to differentiate between her emotions?

"Agent Romanoff, outside."

Violence simmered just beneath her skin, and she squeezed her eyes briefly closed in a last ditch effort to stave off the complete loss of her control. Then she eased back from the table, righting her position and making a conscious decision to relax every tense muscle holding her shoulders rigid. Nothing would be gained by dislocating every joint in Grey's body.

"Don't you go anywhere, Christian," she hissed. "We aren't done here."

That said, she kicked her chair back, eyes remaining glued to Christian Grey while padding toward the door. Not until she stepped through the door Captain Rogers held open did she break eye contact. Once the door closed behind them, she sagged against the wall and covered her face with her hands.

"Natasha, you need to step back," Steve said when the door was closed behind them. "You're emotionally compromised. We cannot make a trade between Doctor Foster and Agent Barton. You know Director Fury and Thor won't allow that."

"How am I supposed to do this?" she asked. That cold, untouchable part of her psyche didn't even recognize her own voice, the pleading tone buried beneath obvious emotion.

There was really no comfort when Steve touched her shoulder and responded, "We're not giving up, but Barton is a professional. He knew the consequences of his profession, and so did you. We can't hand over some innocent woman in exchange for his life."

"If you'd let me kill Christian when we had the chance, none of this would be happening." Yes, there was something accusatory about her tone of voice.

"He was severely wounded and posed no threat at the time. Our moralities are different, but the Avengers have to operate on the appropriate side of morality if we're going to continue living amongst society. We are the example they look to, and if we start killing people who are no longer a threat simply because it's easier, we are doing a disservice to society."

"You know, this brings to mind a scene from Army of Darkness. Ash was possessed by a demon that started growing a body from Ash's own body. When it was a fully formed head, it started yammering about Ash being a goody two-shoes. You're Ash. I'm your demonic twin."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Steve commented.

"No, I don't suppose you do. We're going to have to work on your database of pop culture references when this is all over and done with."

"I know one thing for certain: You're not my demonic twin, and there's nothing demonic or evil about you."

There was a quick pause before Tasha responded, "Thanks for the vote of confidence?"

* * *

Jane was seconds away from stepping onto a quinjet for transport to Avengers Tower when Agent Martinez placed a hand on her shoulder to bring her to a stop. A finger was pressed against his ear to block out the drone from the waiting quinjet's engine, and then he acknowledged whatever communication he was receiving.

"Doctor Foster, your transport will have to be delayed. They need you downstairs for a meeting. Miss Lewis, you may continue on to New York as scheduled."

Darcy snorted softly. "You clearly don't know Jane's history with SHIELD to recommend being left alone in her presence for any length of time." The woman leaned forward a little as though to share a secret with Agent Martinez. "She eats agents for breakfast."

"They need us downstairs," Martinez emphasized.

"It's okay, Darcy. You go on ahead. I'll meet you in New York when I can."

"Are you sure?" Concern was openly displayed on Darcy's expression.

"Yes. Now that Grey is in custody, the Enchantress won't be so eager to make an attempt on my life. Everything will be fine. Just don't drive Miss Potts crazy before I get there!"

Waving, Jane stepped back from the quinjet's ramp to watch the other woman head inside and strap herself into a chair. Not until the ramp was safely sealed and the jet had lifted from the landing pad did she consent to allow Martinez to guide her back toward HQ. Darcy was her responsibility. They'd become close friends, so she would always worry about the other woman's safety.

A chilly breeze, the air heavy with exhaust fumes from some passing semi, cut through her thin jacket. From the outside, SHIELD HQ looked like any standard office building. There were no signs to give away its affiliation, nothing to distinguish it from the buildings cramming nearby city blocks, and the front desk attendants all appeared to be normal, everyday office employees. SHIELD had gone to a great deal of effort to mask its presence.

She'd learned last night not to bother asking Martinez questions. He was tighter than a dolphin's blowhole when it came to telling her what was going on, so she was silent during their trip down into the sublevels. A security badge, a thumbprint, and an eye scanner later, and the elevator doors opened to a hallway plastered with a large SHIELD emblem. Grey carpet muffled the sound of their footsteps, and Martinez finally delivered her to a room marked Debriefing 001.

A long table and eight chairs were the only furniture present. The wall at the head of the table had been painted black. It appeared to be some form of holographic paint, because a man with an eye patch was presently being displayed there with television-like quality. Agent Romanoff and Captain America were seated at the table. The captain rose upon Jane's approach, the door swishing closed behind her once she'd passed through the threshold, and pulled a chair out for her. After thanking him, she made herself as comfortable as possible.

"Doctor Foster, thank you for joining us. I'm Director Nick Fury, presently in charge of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

"Director Fury," she acknowledge.

"It appears we have a situation developing. One of our brightest agents, as you know, has been abducted by an alien hostile. Thor and Iron Man haven't had any luck ascertaining his location on the ground in Colorado Springs. They are en route to Albuquerque now."

"Is there something I can do to help?"

"Did you fall in his presence?" Agent Romanoff asked abruptly.

"Pardon?"

"When he made his attempt on your life at the hospital, did you fall in front of him?"

"I was pretty gorked out on pain killers, so last night's events are kind of fuzzy." Jane searched her memories to try to piece her most recent exchange with Christian back together. "I tried to lead him away from the door to make a run for it but tripped on the edge of the blanket. Yes. Yes, I fell. Landing on my arm hurt like nobody's business. And he muttered something about me being dazzled off my feet."

Director Fury and Agent Romanoff exchanged a glance before Natasha continued, "Pepper tripped entering his office and fell. He insisted she was overwhelmed by his perfection. Jennifer also stumbled and fell during their initial meeting at her office. He claimed she had been dazzled by his perfection. Now you fall in front of him, and he's convinced you're his fiancée. This is a pattern, Director Fury."

"The man is psychologically predisposed to falling in love with women who stumble in his presence?" No small amount of disbelief coated the director's tone.

"It's not about their lack of grace. It's about their vulnerability. His brain interprets their clumsiness as a sign of weakness and malleability, and those are the traits that trigger his delusions. This is a psychological pattern. There's no reason to think he will break pattern, which means he's likely telling the truth."

"I'm sorry, but what are we talking about here?" Jane asked. "The man has repeatedly tried to kill me, and now he's not only rescinded his threat to my life, but he also wants to marry me?" She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Because having my world turned upside down by the god of thunder wasn't enough craziness for one person to handle."

"She may as well hear the rest," Fury said.

"The rest? What more could there possibly be?" asked Jane.

Captain America responded, "He wants to make a trade. You for Agent Barton."

"That's not entirely it," Natasha interjected. "He's willing to give us Agent Barton's location in exchange for his freedom and being reunited with you. There's a charity ball or something. You attend the charity ball as his fiancée, and he'll tell us how to find our missing comrade. Freeing Agent Barton is up to us."

Jane actually laughed. She pressed her hand over her face and tried to calm the chuckles jarring her body and reminding her that her arm was broken and her body bruised. "A week ago, my only worry was whether or not a bunch of crazy Thor Watchers were going to blind me with their camera flashes."

"No one will think less of you if you decide not to cooperate," the captain said, his voice calm and reassuring. "And none of us are going to make the decision for you. Should you choose to cooperate, American Sniper and myself will be on your tail the entire time and will extract you if the situation calls for it."

"American Sniper?"

"A friend of mine by the name of Bucky Barnes. He needed a cover in order to work with the Avengers, so Director Fury re-branded him."

"What if he's lying and this is all just an attempt to separate me from protective custody to make me vulnerable to the Enchantress?"

"No one claimed this isn't a risk, but he's displayed this behavior often enough in the past for us to notice the pattern. Psychological patterns aren't like open wounds or broken bones. They're difficult to change and often can't be healed by enhanced healing mutations. There's no reason to think Amora's magic healed him."

"How am I supposed to handle him if he decides we shouldn't wait until our wedding night to consummate our super special sparkly love?"

"You'll be outfitted with a hidden communication device. The second you feel the situation is escalating beyond what you can handle, you call for Captain America and American Sniper to extract you," Director Fury said.

"I'm not trained for this sort of thing. I never even took a high school drama class."

Natasha murmured something in Russian.

Many years had passed since Jane's undergraduate Russian classes, so she only caught bits and pieces of what the agent was saying, and what she could make out sounded so nonsensical she could hardly believe she was interpreting the words correctly. "Did you just call my mother a nine-eyed cockroach?"

The agent's brow arched. "What is it with you science nerds knowing how to speak Russian? Is it required coursework for all science majors?"

"Russian is more challenging than French or Spanish, but let's not forget you just insulted my mother. How would you like it if I said your father was a seven-legged ostrich?"

A brief silence passed before Natasha said, "I didn't have a father."

"Mine died a few years ago." And common ground. "I get the feeling you don't like me much, Agent Romanoff, and that's okay. Sometimes people rub each other the wrong way for no apparent reason. I just want you to know that my agreement to this plan has nothing to do with you and everything to do with doing the right thing."

"Does that mean you're agreeing?"

Was she? Was she really entertaining the idea of cooperating with them? Clint was in danger because he'd refused to leave her exposed to an enemy who'd shown up on her doorstep seeking her life. He could have fled. Amora and Christian wouldn't have even batted an eye. He could have gone home to his warm bed and stuffed his face with popcorn while watching America's Got Talent. He'd stayed despite all risk to himself. She could do no less for him.

"Yes. This is me agreeing to cooperate with Christian's demands. Of course. I'll do whatever's necessary to bring him home safely."

Agent Romanoff sagged in her chair, eyes squeezing closed momentarily as though someone had just lifted the weight of the world from her shoulders. For as cold as Natasha seemed on the outside, there was definite emotion bubbling away inside, like a pot of potatoes ready to boil over.

Director Fury broke the moment of silence. "There's only one more concern that needs to be addressed before we adjourn the meeting. Who's telling Thor?"

Silence blanketed the debriefing room as four people slid farther down in their seats as though a class of seven year olds trying to avoid attracting Teacher's attention so as not to be called upon to answer a question.

* * *

A/N: I needed to re-brand Bucky. Obviously, Steve isn't ready to retire, thus allowing Bucky to become Captain America, and it would just be hurtful to continue calling him the Winter Soldier. So given his sniper-esque abilities, I thought American Sniper would be fitting for him.

Next Chapter: Tony hates Thor for reasons. Tasha doesn't feel well while racing to find Clint.

Countdown to Clintasha: Three chapters.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty Five

"My objections to this plan are more vehement than can be given logical voice to," Thor exclaimed while dragging his thumb across Jane's knuckles. "You willingly place yourself into harm's way when we could pursue other courses of action. Amora can be tricked out of hiding."

"This is the fastest way to rescue Agent Barton," Jane said as calmly and evenly as possible. "I go with Christian for this one afternoon, and he tells us where Barton can be found. You'll be distracting Amora by attacking her base of operations and preventing her from making an outright attack on me. Rescue Clint and then come back for me. We'll be done, dusted, and home in time for Dancing With the Stars."

His expression didn't ease into relaxation. "Stars do not dance."

"You didn't try to stop me from staying in Puente Antiguo when the Destroyer attacked. Don't turn into a Neanderthal now and start telling me what I can and can't do."

Thor blew out a long breath and sagged, lifting her hand to press his lips to her knuckles. "A man who admired you as I admire you could wish your constitution less noble and honorable so he need not worry for your safety."

"Were I less noble and honorable, you wouldn't admire me half as much as you do. Admit it. You like strong chicks who do what they say and say what they mean," Jane intoned while stepping closer for a last intimate moment with him before the quinjet landed.

"Chicks cannot speak, Jane, and therefore are incapable of doing what they say and saying what they mean. They are small and fluffy juvenile chickens."

She couldn't help but chuckle. "Slang term for a woman."

"It's appropriate for someone to refer to you as a juvenile chicken?"

"Yes." When he still looked uncertain and torn, she touched his cheek and continued, "Thor, I'm going to be fine. The best way you can help me right now is to concentrate on getting Clint back safely."

"You are right, of course. How could I admire anyone even half as much as I admire you if they took the path easiest for themselves and allowed another person to suffer while doing nothing? You must be safe."

"I will be. Captain America and his friend won't allow anything to happen." Because she couldn't stand seeing the tortured concern and uncertainty in his eyes, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him, fingers tangling in strands of his golden hair.

Someone cat-called nearby, and given the limited number of personalities aboard the quinjet, she was likely right in assuming the offender was one Anthony Stark.

When she separated her mouth from Thor's, there was a rather giddy smile on her face. "God, one of these days, I'm going to remember how to function in front of you rather than descending into a fit of giggles."

"Don't you worry, Thor," Tony called out. "We'll help you find the key to her chastity belt when this is all done with, and I've got a reinforced bed waiting for the both of you back at Avengers Tower."

Thor was clearly disapproving when he glanced in Tony's direction. "You will not sully Jane's reputation with such lewd talk. What we do behind a closed door is entirely our business and needs no running commentary from you."

"But every time an Avengers team member gets laid, somewhere an angel gets its wings!"

"Lewdness," Thor reminded Tony.

"Duh. She's a beautiful woman."

"Jane is not an object to be lusted after. She is a candle in the long dark of a winter's night. She is an arrow running straight and true and clean. She is not the object placed upon a pedestal but the pedestal itself lifting you from the cold wastes of Hel. Her worth is greater than all the treasure vaults of Asgard. You would do well to treat her with such respect."

Stunned silence.

Tony croaked, "I hate you, and you are not allowed to move into Avengers Tower."

"Because I speak the truth."

"No, because every female in Avengers Tower will be throwing her panties at you."

Jane couldn't rightly say who was chuckling. She was too busy staring up at Thor with abject worship in her eyes. The Warm Fuzzies turned her insides goopy. There was a scene in the live action Casper film where Christina Ricci used the Lazarus machine in an attempt to bring Casper back to life, but opening the door revealed Casper in the shape of a sunny side up egg. That was how Jane felt. She'd thoroughly melted in the face of Thor's impassioned speech.

Her fingers curled around the edges of his breastplate, and she tugged him down for another kiss, because it was either kiss him or start giggling like a maniac again. Fireworks could have exploded in her ears and she wouldn't have noticed or cared. An entire herd of elephants could have flown past, and it wouldn't have mattered.

"See," Tony commented. "She may as well be throwing her panties at him already."

Somehow, she found the fortitude to ease away from the kiss rather than standing there making out in front of the rest of the Avengers. These were his teammates. She couldn't hang all over him in front of his teammates no matter how justified turning herself into a koala would have been given the circumstances. There was something shy about her smile when Thor traced the outline of her cheek.

"I hate to break up the festivities, but we're making our approach," Natasha informed them. "Look sharp."

Jane forced herself to take a step away from Thor and brace herself when the jet started into its descent. Having never been to Seattle, she didn't know the name of the major airport, and neither did it matter. Tasha's comment reminded her what kind of evening she faced, and Jane took a moment to smooth a wrinkle from the sleeve of her plum dress.

As soon as she was turned over into Christian's custody, he would provide Natasha with the coordinates to Barton's location. There was relief in knowing help would soon arrive for Clint, but that didn't make attending a charity function on the arm of her nemesis any easier. If he put one finger out of place, she was going to scream her head off for Captain America and American Sniper. No. No, she had to be stronger than that.

This was their one shot at getting Clint back without going to extreme measures. Extreme measures included involving Loki to use his magic to locate and help defeat Amora. The catch would of course be leniency for his crimes against Midgard. Everyone had practically broken into a chorus of wails at the injustice of having to work with Loki, so it had been categorized as "the absolute last resort."

She couldn't afford to take such a hard line when it came to Loki Odinson. He was Thor's brother. She despised what he'd done to Erik. She despised the number of lives lost because of his actions, but for Thor's sake, she had to try to see Loki from a different angle. Hating him, calling for his head on a silver platter, would only hurt Thor.

The jet finally touched ground, her balance reinforced when Thor slid an arm around her waist to pull her tightly against his solid frame. Iron Man broke off his conversation with American Sniper and headed over to stand next to them. Being impressed with Tony Stark was a given. His reputation as a mechanical engineer was flabbergasting.

"So I was totally lying about you two not being invited to Avengers Tower. Of course you're invited. In fact, I'm signing your cast when all this is over and done with. I'm a huge fan of the Foster Theory regarding the alien use of wormholes to create portals through space and time. Getting to sign your cast would make me squee like a fanboy."

"Thank you?" she said, clearly uncertain about whether she should thank him for being a fan or descend into Geek Mode herself considering who he was. Her expression soured slightly when she looked down at the bright red cast weighing her arm down.

"You'll love Avengers Tower, by the way," he continued. "Top ten floors are devoted to research and development. Our labs are some of the most advanced on the planet."

"It's like you're completing your NFL juice mug collection," Bucky interjected.

"Only for scientists. Good one, Barnes. I should build a trophy case to put them in while I'm at it. Imagine having three of the world's top minds residing under one roof. The implications would be epic."

"I'm one of the world's top minds?" There was no small amount of surprise in her tone.

"You successfully figure out a way to control wormholes and use them as portals onto different planets, and you will be as my goddess. I shall personally bestow upon you the Montgomery Scott Award For Excellence."

Agent Romanoff interrupted their banter when she said, "Look alive. We have visual on Christian Grey. Let's get this over with."

Tension flooded back into the jet when a mechanic whirring sound preceded the ramp being lowered to the tarmac. Jane clenched her fingers into a tight fist upon catching sight of the black Audi waiting outside. Christian leaned against the front fender looking casual. Thor had just called her a candle in the long dark of a winter's night. There was nothing dashing or handsome about Christian in comparison to that.

Natasha suddenly caught hold of her elbow, tearing Jane's attention away from perusing her nemesis. Agent Romanoff and Thor exchanged a long glance. A silent battle of wills ensued, at the end of which the agent escorted her down the ramp without Thor attempting to put a last minute stop to the exchange despite the tension on his expression.

"Darling, it's lovely to see you again," he said upon their approach.

Jane made no move to pull back when he leaned down to kiss her cheek despite the shivers of disgust raking her nerve endings. "You too."

"The coordinates," Natasha reminded. "Let's not make this unpleasant by trying to change the terms of our agreement."

"Because you have fulfilled your end of the bargain." The man reached into an inner jacket pocket and withdrew a slip of paper which was pressed into Natasha's hand.

Natasha opened the paper to read its contents and then looked up, a hard glance boring into the man and her lips tight. "Pray to whatever god you believe in these coordinates are accurate. If they aren't, the consequences will be beyond your imagining."

"They're accurate, Agent Romanoff. Deceit is your forte, not mine."

Jane's stomach tightened and became uncomfortable when Natasha gave her a last lingering glance before reversing her steps back toward the waiting jet. A few breaths were necessary to make her body obey her brain, at which point, she turned her glance up to Christian.

"So there's a charity function we'll be attending tonight, Sweetheart?"

* * *

Tasha was going to Hell.

She had just made a deal with the Devil and was going to burn for an eternity. After all, Thor was a god, so handing Jane over to Christian was absolutely the same thing as handing a god's consort over to Satan. Breaking Castiel's wings, stripping him naked, and giving him to Crowley with a red ribbon around his neck wasn't as dastardly as the exchange she'd just made.

_"Here lies Natasha Romanoff, destroyer of the innocent, dealer with the devil, who was single-handedly responsible for sullying the consort of the god of thunder. Upon death, she went straight to the hellfire and brimstone Baptist version of the Lake of Fire. May she suffer for millennia."_ That should be her epitaph and legacy.

By the looks of things, Thor was going to buy her the elevator ticket straight down to Dante's Inferno.

Nausea-she'd been queasy all damn day-cramped her belly, and she finally said, "I don't like it anymore than you do, Thor."

"My anger is not directed toward you. Anthony tells me Clint and you have become lovers. A person doing everything necessary to save their lover is understandable. I hate the situation, not you."

All she could do was acknowledge his comment by inclining her head, attention diverted toward the onboard computers when error codes started flashing across the screens. A few command prompts began diagnostic tests to figure out the cause. She leaned forward and glanced out their windshield. Exterior lights illuminated a small radius around their jet as they whooshed through the inky darkness blanketing the mountains of British Columbia.

The coordinates Christian had provided that afternoon were for the tiny town of Quaquetal deep in the mountains hugging the Canadian border. Barely over two hundred residents called the place home, so it was small enough not to make the town an obvious target but also large enough they wouldn't be able to pinpoint Clint's exact location. They would have to go in by foot and search the town manually with their sensors going haywire.

Discomfort caused her to grimace when her stomach clenched dangerously, but she swallowed the urge to vomit back down and asked, "Stark, how are your long range scanners?"

"Malfunctioning," he responded. "An unknown frequency is interfering with Jarvis' ability to scan our target destination."

"Which could explain why Clint's GPS tracker hasn't pinged in our scanners. Either something atmospheric is blocking the signal, or Amora has tech on the ground causing the interference. Thor?"

"Asgardian technology is more advanced than yours. It is possible."

"Agent Cortez, find us a landing spot a couple of miles outside of town. We need to keep our presence concealed as long as possible."

"Yes, Ma'am," their pilot responded.

"I'll keep working on the scanners," Tony said. "If I can hammer down the frequency, I might able to tell you where it's coming from. Silver Lining: Unless she set up this location with the express intent of deceiving us and throwing us off her scent, we've got the right place."

"She probably knows Christian is on the outs by now, so let's not assume anything."

Natasha retreated into her thoughts while Cortez circled the area to find a suitable location to land. Her unsettled stomach protested when the ship shifted course and started into its descent, nausea intensifying until she wasn't certain she could control the spasms. A grimace marred her features, palm flattening against her stomach.

The discomfort suddenly became more acute. There was no stopping it this time, so she jerked at her harness restraints. She barely cleared her seat before the contents of her stomach revisited the light of day, body wrenching with each spasm until nothing was left to come up. Even then, she continued to dry-heave for several moments while Iron Man, Thor, and Cortez looked on in horror.

A pronounced "eww" was forthcoming before Iron Man's faceplate lowered into place. "Sorry, Thor. You're on your own. I so much as smell it, and I'll be doing it too."

Thor was clearly concerned and hurried over to pull her hair away from her face and rub a big palm over her back. "You should have told us you were feeling unwell."

"It's just…the stress," she croaked, voice hoarse. "Yeah, stress."

Worrying about Clint, feeling responsible for Jane being in the hands of Christian Grey, and the rapid descent had tipped her over the edge of control, because she could not afford to legitimately be sick while Clint was in danger. The Black Widow program had caused certain enhancements to her molecular structure that prolonged her life and increased her stamina, agility, and rate of healing, so an illness wouldn't be as devastating to her. That didn't mean she could afford to not be at the top of her game while Clint was missing.

Her condition wasn't helped in the slightest when the quinjet finally touched down with a slight jerking motion that almost sent her into another fit of dry-heaving. Uncertain seconds ticked by, time in which she didn't bother shrugging Thor's touch away. Finally, her stomach settled enough she was able to straighten her position.

"Better?" asked Thor.

"More or less. Cortez, clean this up while we're gone."

"But…" the agent started to protest.

Natasha cut him off abruptly. "Do you want me to throw up again when we come back and fill this airtight tin can with an even stronger scent of vomit? No? Then man up."

Cortez looked like he would continue his protests only to sag his shoulders in submission and mutter, "Sometimes, I really hate my life." Then he punched a button that lowered the back ramp to allow blessedly fresh air to flood into the jet along with a downright frigid breeze.

Rain peppered down outside. Between that and temperatures that hovered right around freezing, leaving the safety of the quinjet was a dreaded occurrence. If she was legitimately sick, running around in the cold and wet certainly wouldn't help her condition. Somehow, this was all Christian Grey's fault. She would find a way of exacting revenge.

There was nothing else for it. Tasha jogged down the ramp and stepped out into the elements with a visible shudder. Heavy clouds obliterated moonlight that would have helped them navigate their surroundings, so they were plunged into darkness when Cortez killed the external lights that had helped him safely land.

"Tony, you got any navigation up and running?" she asked. "Second question: There anything you can do about your chest piece and eyes? You're a walking Christmas tree."

"Negatory. Even my onboard compass is malfunctioning, but we need to head east. That way." Seconds later, the arc reactor snuffed out as a metal plate sealed over it. The suit's glowing eyes dimmed and then ceased giving off light altogether.

Soft blue lights at her wrists from the electrified devices that produced her Widow's Kiss flickered and then died when she flipped a couple of switches to kill the lights. That done, she hurried off into the darkness. The air was heavy with moisture and the cloying scent of wet earth, effectively turning breathing into a conscious decision rather than muscle memory. Nausea continued to be a distraction, but her stomach was much more inclined to behave now that she'd emptied its contents.

Navigating the hilly terrain in darkness while the ground was slick with rain and mud slowed their progress to a crawl. They moved silently. The only sounds produced by their passing were the whirring of gears in Tony's armor and the crunch of vegetation beneath his heavier footfalls. Occasionally, a branch would whip back and slap against his armor, but they could be confident their approach wouldn't be given away by light or sound.

By the time Tasha stopped the group on a hilltop overlooking the small valley in which Quaquetal sprawled, she was soaked to the bone and practically shivering. Tendrils of dripping hair were shoved back from her face while she studied the town's layout. No uniformity or city planning was evident, just a collection of houses and shops built on whatever flat ground was available and interconnected by narrow roads and gravel drives. There was a distinct lack of garish billboards proclaiming "over a billion served" and "eat fresh."

"If we split up, we're going to cover more ground," Tasha said, finally breaking their silence. "Tony, come in from the east. Thor, you take the west. I'll arrive from the south. Work your way through town quietly and try to avoid being seen."

Her team members barely had time to nod their understanding before she disappeared into the blackness of night to make her way south. Traversing the area took no short amount of time given the sprawling nature of Quaquetal, so reaching her quadrant required far too much time for her comfort level. Progress was slowed even more upon encountering the town's outermost residences, as she had to skirt the buildings carefully to avoid triggering motion activated lights or any other security measures that would have given away her position.

In short, Natasha Romanoff's patience was wearing thin by the time she sidled into an alley separating the schoolhouse from a mercantile. Nausea cramped her belly again, and she was forced to lean over to rest her hands against her knees. Deep breaths were methodically pulled into her lungs, but that didn't save her from the inevitable. Her body jerked when heaves somehow managed to produce enough bile to splatter the ground.

Her anonymity, her silence, the element of surprise was wrenched away when someone stepped into the head of the alley, no doubt attracted by the sound of her vomiting. Tasha froze.

The young man's eyes widened, and he immediately looked alarmed.

"I'm not here to hurt you," she croaked. "You're fine."

"Help!" the man suddenly shouted. "Help! They're here! Amora, they're here!"

Dread pooled in the pit of Tasha's belly to join the nausea. Because of course Amora had an army of civilians standing between them and Agent Barton. The next logical question: Were they brainwashed, or had she recruited them to willing serve her cause? Tasha didn't have time to answer those questions, because a hulking shadow came to stand behind the resident, the young man dwarfed by the giant responding to his call.

* * *

A/N: I got some bonus writing time this week, so my lovely readers get a bonus chapter! This section will be wrapping up soon, and I'm moving forward and thinking about who will be unfortunate enough to meet Christian Grey next. If you have any suggestions for future heroines to feature, feel free to let me know.

Next Chapter: Tasha, Thor, and Iron Man battle their way through an army of frost giants and humans to find Clint, Jane is treated to more of Christian being a controlling perv.

Countdown to Clintasha: Two Chapters.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty Six

"Frost giants," Thor warned through their com units. "Guards up. Be wary."

Wariness hadn't saved Tasha from having her presence discovered as she stared one of the beasts down. Sizing up the situation in a moment's notice allowed her to scramble onto a dumpster in the alley when the frost giant surged in her direction. She hit the dumpster's lid on the flat of her feet and sprang upwards to catch the second story sill of a window, using the grip to launch herself up onto the school's rooftop where she sprinted across to the other side.

A figure was suddenly looming out of the darkness. She had a few precious seconds to react upon noting the rifle clutched in his hands. Momentum allowed her to bounce into a handspring and lock her thighs around his neck in order to wrench him off his feet and fling him to the ground. Because a woman's thighs were more powerful than her upper body, and she thoroughly believed in using every advantage against a stronger opponent.

When she landed softly on her feet, she snapped the man's neck with a quick motion, scooped up his rifle, and continued across the roof where she crouched against the building's parapets to look out over the main town square.

"The townspeople are working with Amora," she breathed. "Don't know if it's brainwashing or willingness on their part, but they're armed."

"Nullify them in a non-lethal manner," Stark commented. "The Avengers would get major bad press if we went around killing brainwashed citizens."

Gentle wind swirled through the town center, wafting the aroma of cooking burgers straight into Tasha's face from a nearby restaurant. Her stomach protested the very idea of something so greasy as a cheeseburger, and she was very nearly sick again.

By that point, the giant had figured out her move and was no longer content circling the schoolhouse. Bailing became her only option when the beast pounded solid fists against the wall on Tasha's side of the building. Tremors fractured the roof upon which she was standing and flushed her out of hiding. She fired off a shot from her confiscated rifle, the bullet ricocheting off the beast's frozen hide and pinging off a vehicle parked in the street. A running jump allowed her to clear the gap onto the much lower roof of the restaurant next door.

The impact on her shoulder wrenched a soft grunt from her lungs as she rolled to absorb some of the force. "I'm on the roof of Maggie's adjacent to the schoolhouse. Need backup. There's a giant on my tail. Does anybody copy?"

"Why would I copy your words rather than making my way in your direction to handle the giant?" Thor inquired.

"Linguistic lessons, Thor. You're taking them when this is over," she responded.

People came pouring out of the restaurant like a horde of zombies when the frost giant shouted a command for them to surround the building. Dispose of them in a non-lethal manner? Because that was totally possible when she was pinned down on a roof with only a rifle and her guns as long range weapons. It was rather difficult to turn those into non-lethal options! There was an aspect of Natasha buried deep down under the SHIELD training that wanted to kill them all for serving Amora's interests.

She crept to the edge of the roof and glanced down to see dozens of people fanning out around the building. They parted like the Red Sea upon the giant's approach only to close ranks behind him again to cut off the possibility of her escape. Hiding in the thick shadows produced by machinery on the rooftop would only buy her so long before the giant flushed her out of hiding. The situation was more dire than she'd imagined at first.

"Jarvis has a lock on that frequency that's been blocking our scanners," Stark suddenly said. "It's coming from the theater house. East of the main strip."

"Don't engage," ordered Tasha.

"You want me to just leave Barton there then to continue being Amora's pin cushion?"

"She sees you coming, Barton's as good as dead. Rendezvous with Thor to distract the townspeople and giants. As soon as my position is secure, I'll enter the facility to free Barton. I'm better at the whole sneaking thing." Well, that had been a safe bet before having given away their presence by heaving her guts up.

The rooftop position was compromised when the giant-he was probably a good nine feet tall-boosted several men over the parapets, willingly using his human shields to do the flushing for him. Tasha rolled away from the heating unit and opened fire. Two of the men dropped when their kneecaps were blown out. A third was hit in the throat and immediately started spraying blood from his severed jugular.

Well, it had been unlikely they were going to save everyone anyway. She streaked across the rooftop and ducked in behind an old stove that was damn near rusted solid from exposure to the elements where she crouched. Her breathing was shallow.

A sudden commotion popped the tense silence when the giant reacted to Thor's arrival on scene. Mjolnir went streaking through the air to slam into the giant's chest, and there was a tremendous vibration that threatened to shake the building apart when said giant hit the ground. Seconds later, Iron Man streaked from overhead and blasted at a second giant with his hand beams. People started shrieking and scattering.

Natasha was damn near sick again when a vent on the roof opened up and poured out the scent of greasy cheeseburgers. Somehow, the spasms subsided enough for her drop down off the roof, at which point, she handled half a dozen citizens with a combination of small arms fire and hand to hand techniques before breaking through their line and darting into the darkness of a city park, veering east once she'd ducked behind a row of low hedges to avoid being seen.

Her teammates were creating such a display of fireworks and lightning the town's residents and the frost giants scattered throughout were pouring in their direction. "You've got incoming, Boys. There's a whole platoon headed in your direction, so stay on the move. Don't get pinned down."

The warning given, she kept to the shadows until the sounds of battle faded and became distant. A row of benches across the street from the target location provided enough cover for her to hunker down and get a look at the building. When Tony had said "theater," she'd expected a modern movie theater or perhaps a drive-in theater, but that's not what he'd meant. A sign hanging over the main doors proclaimed the building "Mishler Theater." It was an actual playhouse with a stage, a relic from a bygone era before the advent of motion picture and television. God, this was one of those times when she felt supremely old.

Clouds finally began to break apart and allowed enough moonlight for her to note two men patrolling the rooftop with rifles. Heavy security could be expected, but excitement rather than dread pooled in her belly. Were she a more sentimental person, she probably would have noted that she could practically feel Barton's presence. She was close.

Waiting until the men moved away from the main entrance allowed her to go unseen when she raced across the street and ducked into the shadows to circle the building and look for a point of entrance. Luck provided. A couple of window wells on the backside allowed natural light into the building's sublevel. She hunkered down and used a utility knife from her belt to loosen the plaster around the glass. There was one good thing about a building of such age.

Easing the pane of glass silently free of the casing, she set it aside and slipped down into the window well. There was one terrifying moment when her utility belt became lodged against the outside of the casing. She had one of those curvaceous asses that was meatier than her stature suggested, so fitting it through the opening wasn't a foregone conclusion. A bit of wiggling finally allowed her drop through into the sublevel.

The search began.

Less than an hour was spent creeping around through shadows and pausing to wait for security goons to pass in order to remain undetected as long as possible before Tasha realized she wasn't queasy anymore. A certain calm had descended over her mind and body. Normalcy had returned, allowing her to function with precision and efficiency. Whether it be psychosomatic or her body had finally healed the sickness, she couldn't say.

Her first glimpse of Amora happened unexpectedly. Tasha slipped inside the theater's lighting booth, a broad window giving her a vantage overlooking the stage and seating below. She crouched there, barely peeking over the low wall the window bank was mounted in when a couple of guards rushed down the long aisle toward the stage.

"Mistress, we've been infiltrated. We're under attack."

There was a creaking sound before the curtain lifted, revealing a blonde woman seated in a throne reminiscent of something straight out of _Game of Thrones_, but Tasha barely noticed her, because Clint was being held midair and spread eagle by a series of ropes behind Amora.

Her breathing became shorter and more ragged the longer she looked at him. He was naked. His body was littered with bruises and bloody welts. The fingers of his firing hand, the one responsible for drawing his bowstring taut, appeared so awkward it became immediately obvious every joint in his hand had been dislocated. Blood coated his inner thighs and had dripped in a puddle on the stage beneath him. She wasn't even certain he was still alive.

Natasha saw red.

Every ounce of will power was required to keep from charging the stage like a madwoman and disassembling the Enchantress one cell at a time, and it was only through a supreme effort she reminded herself that charging Amora would result in Clint's death if he wasn't dead already. No, she had to wait. She had to bide her time. Clint's safety was more important than quick revenge.

Clint's chin suddenly lifted from his chest.

* * *

Jane's cell phone chimed-she didn't care about loading a special ringtone when the sole purpose of a chime was to denote an incoming call or text, so her phone's chime was still on its factory setting-in the awkward silence permeating the interior of Christian's Audi. She reached into the pocket of her dress to produce her phone and check the caller.

"Who is attempting to contact you?" Christian demanded in a hard tone.

"None of your business."

"Jane, you have been placed in my custody to protect you from Amora. Amora will make another attempt on your life. Make no mistake about that. She will kidnap you and strip the flesh from your bones if we aren't careful. Now, I will ask again. Who is calling?"

"Darcy," Jane responded. Darcy, who knew nothing about the sudden Christiangate deal, was probably worried sick.

"Do not answer that call."

"Because you can totally tell me who I can and can't speak with."

One of his hand's left the steering wheel, fingers curling around the wrist of her good arm and squeezing just hard enough as to make his wishes clear. If she answered the call, he was going break her other arm and render her incapable of answering any calls for the next six weeks.

Tension tightened her stomach. "You're not preventing me from having contact with the people I care about."

"Darcy is in SHIELD custody, my dear. They have brainwashed her against us. She will attempt to come between us and destroy the love we have for one another. It wouldn't be the first time SHIELD has meddled in my personal relationships."

She let it go. She wasn't going to be with Christian long enough to worry about a battle of wills over whether or not she could continue associating with Darcy, so she wordlessly pushed the end call function and stuffed her phone back in her pocket.

"Good. What I do, I do for your own good. Remember that. Your safety is more important than my own heartbeat."

"You are too kind, Christian." Her tone was as sincere as she could possibly make it.

Non-communication blanketed them again while the strains of a piece of classical music spilled from the speakers. She recognized the melody and smiled when it brought back memories. Darcy had invited her parents to Puente Antiguo for Christmas last year. They'd all sat bundled around a Christmas tree listening to this particular piece of music.

"Are you fond of this piece? You have much to learn about the classical composers if you're to fit into my social standing. Classical music and literature are subjects dear to my heart, so you will need to spend an intense amount of study if you hope to achieve fluency on these topics. Modern music and television is beneath us."

Jane's expression became positively smug upon responding, "Variatio Fourteen of the Goldberg Variations." A mental check was ticked next to Darcy's name, who had spent an entire month deadlocked in an online argument over whether Goldberg was the first who'd played the Variations or if he'd simply ordered Bach to compose them. "And while we're on the subject, abstaining from television doesn't make you look smart. It makes you look pretentious."

Clearly, he hadn't been expecting her to recognize the piece. "Well, aren't you a bright young woman." Something soured in his tone, as though he'd been looking forward to belittling her for not knowing classical music.

"I received my PhD in astrophysics from Stanford where I graduated with honors. Did you assume otherwise?" She suddenly smacked herself in the forehead gently as though experiencing a duh moment. "Oh I forgot. I have a vagina. That means I can't possibly be as smart as you."

Christian did not find sarcasm on a woman attractive judging by the depth of his frown. Darcy would say he was pulling off a perfect Grumpy Cat imitation, but he didn't bother trying to get the last word. Further conversation was staved off when he pulled into a drive leading up to a mansion. Numerous cars were parked in the grass, but he drove right up to an attached five car garage. A lake and a boathouse could be seen in the distance, but the backyard was dominated by a large party tent where well-dressed people were coming and going with glasses of champagne.

After parking, he turned toward her, arm resting on the headrest of her seat, and said, "Be on your best behavior, my dear. No tempting me to explore the jewel that lay at the heart of your femininity. My mother would not take kindly to me whisking you away for a quick snuggle in the boathouse."

"Wait, this is your family's home?" Well, things just became infinitely more uncomfortable. "And it's not my job to keep you from attempting liberties. You should be able to control your own libido."

More scowls and posturing were forthcoming. "A man only has so much control over his desires. Do not provoke me beyond the limits of that control."

She pinned him with a hard glance, eyes narrowing, because she absolutely refused to wither under the heat of his glance. "Men like you are the reason women in certain Middle Eastern cultures have to wander around in burkas."

"This defiance you so brazenly display will end the day we're married, the day wedding vows are spoken between us and you belong to me," he hissed. Fingers grasped her chin hard enough there would be red marks left behind.

Her body language practically screamed Sarcasm Alert. "Yes, _Master_." The chibi Darcy who followed her around on a daily basis was dressed in her girliest cheerleader outfit and was doing jumping jacks with her pompoms.

His fingers clenched like he was giving very serious thought to striking her, but the impending confrontation was staved off when a young woman came bouncing toward their car. She was a pretty woman with glossy, dark hair cropped around her ears and a fashionably thin figure, and her presence changed Christian's demeanor like night and day. He was suddenly relaxing and climbing from the car to embrace the young woman.

Breath rushed back into Jane's lungs with the sudden dissipation of tension. Keeping Christian occupied for as long as possible was paramount in the successful rescue of Agent Barton. She couldn't risk making him that angry again for fear she'd have to call for Captain America and American Sniper too early. Determination solidified, she stepped out of the car with as convincingly bright a smile as possible where Christian introduced the young woman to her as Maia, his younger sister.

Introductions to his family went smoothly. In fact, they were enthusiastic about meeting her. Honestly, she wouldn't be able to remember their names for longer than the initial introduction. The evening was just too tense, but they struck her as nice people who seemed genuinely glad their son had taken a lingering interest in a woman. They were completely on board with Christian finally settling down with a long term partner, so she tried to be patient with their numerous questions and respond with a convincing amount of detail.

And then dinner happened. A five course meal was served in the tent where dozens of people had paid several hundred dollars for the chance to attend the feast. She gathered from snippets of conversation that Christian's mother did a great deal of charity work and had arranged the event to benefit inner city youth organizations. A worthy and noble cause under any circumstance but Jane was not giving these people access to her checking account no matter how worthy the cause.

Things seemed to be going smoothly with Creepy McCreeper being distracted from harassing her by his family and the surrounding guests. Naturally, that meant things had to take a turn for the worst. His hand slipped under the table and came to rest on her knee. At first, she was willing to overlook it. That kind of thing could have been a knee jerk reaction, so she just shoved his hand off her knee and went about picking at her meal.

"Eat, Darling," he whispered in his dark-chocolate-and-caramel-and-raspberry-and-milk- chocolate-mousse-and-key-lime-pie-and-rainbow-sher bet-and-gravy-and-buffalo-chicken-wing-and-hot-sau ce-and-jalapeno-and-salsa-and-taco-and-mango-and-t equilla-and-pistachios-and-pineapple-upside-down-c ake voice. "You'll need your strength for this evening." And his cursed dirtier-than-a-disease-ridden-corpse hand returned to her knee. This time, however, his hand wasn't content to remain on said knee. It glided up under the hem of her dress.

Jane went stiff all over. For her part, she tried to endure whatever he had in mind. Surely he wouldn't take it that far at the dinner table surrounded by Seattle's elite. Oh how fucking wrong she was. His fingers got so far as to nuzzle against her panties before she reached over and pinched him in the side hard enough she hoped she drew blood.

He yelped so loudly heads at all the nearest tables turned in their direction with glances that ranged from curious to amused and concerned. And then his face filled with color. Chalk one up for having made Christian Grey blush for a change. A stormy glance whipped in her direction. His eyes blazed.

Once his attention was thoroughly fixed on her, she calmly dragged his hand out from under her dress with a pointed look that promised another pinch if he so much as breathed at her the wrong way. If Amora was standing in front of her holding a knife to Barton's throat saying "screw Christian Grey or Barton dies," she would swallow her pride and disgust and do what was necessary. A man's life was more important than her reproductive organs. But such was not the case, and she was not tolerating his penchant for getting grabby.

True Fact: Jane Foster loved British comedies. There was nothing more relaxing than curling up at the end of a hard day with a cup of hot chocolate and watching a few episodes. Her favorite happened to be _Are You Being Served_. The ongoing joke in that show was Mrs. Slocomb's pretend disgust over men buying her drinks at the local pub, "the sloppy kisses, the fumbling hands, and the fight to get out the door of his car" at the end of the night when a man thought buying a girl a few drinks entitled him to a romp between the sheets. That was how Jane felt with regards to Christian Grey. It seemed a constant fight to keep his roving hands in check.

He was just starting to get restless again, his hand just beginning to make another assault on her personal Fort Knox when the unexpected happened. Chatter from guests seated farther away from the main tables attracted Jane's attention in time to see the tent flaps being thrown open. Several massive…things entered. She called them things because she wasn't certain exactly what they were. They were humanoid, covered with blue skin, and each stood no less than eight feet tall. Well, most of them were covered with blue skin. One man lacked the telltale blue complexion but was equally as tall as the others.

"I am Skurge, the Executioner. Give unto my keeping one Jane Foster, and the Bloodaxe will forestall its fury and abstain from drinking your blood."

Dead silence made the atmosphere feel heavy around them before Jane whispered into the communication device she'd been outfitted with. "Captain America, a little assistance, please."

And then all Hell broke loose.

* * *

A/N: Because you can't have Amora without the Executioner, amirite? Let me apologize if anyone finds the description of Clint's condition disturbing. There will be some mild torture in the next chapter. Nothing is horrendously graphic, and it's only brief in nature to keep with the T rating. If anyone does find any of the descriptions too disturbing, please let me know.

Next Chapter: The return of Clintasha, facilitated with some help from a very unexpected source, and Bucky is Jane's hero forever.

Countdown to Clintasha: Coming your way next weekend.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty Seven

"I have visual on Barton. Does anybody copy?" Tasha breathed, her voice barely audible in an effort to maintain secrecy until the last possible moment.

"We're in the middle of something here," Stark responded.

"The civilians make defeating the Jotuns difficult in that they insist on thrusting themselves into the line of fire. We cannot break combat to rendezvous and lend aide."'

She could count on no help from her comrades. They were already doing everything they could to provide her enough time to free Clint. Tension pulled her body tight when Amora rose from her throne, fingers twisting in a random pattern before Clint's bonds suddenly lowered him closer toward the stage. The soft groan he produced reverberated in Tasha's mind a thousand times in the space of a couple of seconds, and every ounce of willpower was needed to avoid immediately bailing from her hiding spot to save him.

Amora approached a small tray resting on a stool near Clint's position. From said tray, she selected what appeared to be a fork and then padded over to stand in front of him. "Hello, my pet. No hope should you gather from this invasion. Rescuing you, your friends will not accomplish, but revealed has been a traitor. My pet, Christian, has abandoned us in favor of love. How weak is a man to be so easily twisted by love."

Clint didn't respond vocally. His jaw worked back and forth before spitting a mouthful of blood in her direction. Had Amora been standing a few inches closer, it would have splattered right in her face. Instead, the spittle landed in the region of her chest.

"Disappointing, you are. A beautiful friendship could we have made together." The woman pressed the tines of the fork against Clint's chest and grazed them down over his nipple. "Handled will Christian and Jane be by my truest and most loyal servant. The Executioner will complete my great need."

Tasha was suddenly torn between needing Thor to continue distracting the enemy and warning him Jane was under threat. How could anyone possibly make the right decision in such a scenario? How could anyone respond with the appropriate amount of selflessness while watching one's lover being tormented by the Enchantress? She didn't know what to do.

Any internal conflict, however, quieted when the Enchantress pressed the tines of the fork between Clint's legs where his most sensitive flesh was located. He was conditioned to withstand pain. Field agents expected pain and didn't break under torture, so the sound of a raw, hoarse shout escaping past the measure of his control destroyed Tasha.

She saw red. And crimson. And rouge. And scarlet. And ruby.

That was the end of Hide and Seek. Natasha shouldered her borrowed rifle, took bead on Amora, and made the shot. Unfortunately, the bullet's trajectory was changed upon shattering through plate glass so that it struck Amora in the back of the shoulder rather than the base of her skull as intended. The woman didn't even yelp, and Tasha didn't hang around long enough to determine if any damage had been done.

Speed was paramount, so she dove hands-first through what remained of the window pane. Hitting the stairs beneath on the back of her shoulders allowed her momentum to carry her forward into a somersault that ended when she rolled gracefully to her feet. She sprinted down the stairs, desperate to reach Clint before Amora could assess the situation .

Her leading attack involved flinging a pair of electrical discs onto the stage floor beneath the Enchantress' feet, electricity arching up into the woman's legs as she was mid-lunge with hand extended toward Clint's throat and grasping the bloody fork. But Tasha didn't rest upon her laurels when success hinged upon her ability to stay clear of the enemy's magic. She launched herself into a handspring that arched her body over a glob of green energy exiting the enemy's hand, twisted in midair, and came down on Amora's shoulders.

Like a bird on a live wire. So long as she kept herself from being grounded, she wouldn't receive any of the electrical current running through her enemy. Fingertips dug into Amora's hair to steady herself while she jabbed a Widow's Kiss into the side of an exposed neck. Cries of pain were music to her ears, but the shuddering body beneath her didn't begin to make up for the horror of Clint's condition.

Tasha was just springing free of her perch, hand going to the utility knife on her belt, when the tides of battle changed. Amora heaved herself backward, toppling them both to the floor and pinning Tasha. An elbow cracked against her ribcage with enough force pain was immediately radiating up from what she didn't doubt was a cracked rib.

In all fairness, she hadn't expected to suddenly wind up beneath a freight train. Her enemy wasn't substantially larger. Their weight shouldn't be drastically different. Sucked to be wrong, because being beneath Amora was like being crushed in the coils of a constrictor. Each expelled breath made taking the next more difficult. Something about Asgardian physiology hadn't been listed in SHIELD intel.

So she resorted to any means necessary to avoid suffocating. Nails bit into Amora's cheek, leaving gouges that immediately welled with blood while the other woman attempted to roll onto her stomach. What ensued next could only be described as a good, old-fashioned cat fight, which Tasha detested having to engage in. There was hair pulling. There was nail scratching. There was even an attempt to ram her knee between Amora's legs, because Tasha didn't care what anyone said, kneeing a woman's crotch was just as painful as a man's.

And then a volley of magic threatened everything.

Tasha's eyes flared wide when the other woman clawed into the offensive position, the hand that locked around her throat already glowing green. Something sticky and warm seeped through her skin, like a glob of molasses had been shoved into the middle of her wind pipe. Breathing became impossible. Weakness spread outward throughout her limbs until her arms and legs felt like dead weights. The bitter end seemed near. She had failed Clint.

A bright flash of light illuminated their surroundings and caused Amora to pull her attention toward a pinprick of color amidst the blinding light. Said pinprick expanded rapidly into the dark silhouette of a man, and then the light sucked back into the darkness, leaving Loki Laufeyson standing on the stage in his Asgardian finery.

"The All-Father desires me convey his displeasure with you, Amora. You've been a naughty girl, picking on humans so vastly weaker than you. Come. Test your magic against mine," Loki intoned in a haughty voice.

Amora eased her position, hand unclenching from its prize before she slowly regained her feet. "Remain supine, dear Natasha. But a moment, this won't take." Amora's voice rose in confidence and was tinged with no small amount of pleasure when she addressed the newcomer. "Loki Laufeyson, insane, I thought you were. Locked away in your prison. The All-Father finally allowed you a barber?"

Desperate breaths suddenly rushed into Tasha's lungs and caused her to become lightheaded. She curled into a ball, body wracked with pain, while attempting to gather her scattered wits. Because apparently Loki was running free and had stopped by to kill Amora out of the goodness of his twisted, depraved heart.

"Haven't you heard? Megalomania is so last season. And that will be Loki Odinson to you," he responded in a chipper voice.

Chalk one up for being able to render Natasha Romanoff speechless. She remained on her side, unable to move and cautiously watching the two magic users circling each other, until some strength returned to her limbs. The first volley of magic left a smoking crater in the opposite wall when Loki flicked a glob of green energy from his palm. Amora responded in kind, but Tasha had the impression this wasn't going to be an easy victory for either party.

So her job became releasing Clint and getting the Hell out of Dodge-Tony probably would have sat there with a bucket of popcorn giggling about Darth Vader and Darth Sidius facing off against one another-before the pair brought the entire structure down on their heads. She scrambled to her feet. A mad dash allowed her to lay hands on her utility knife, which had clattered to the floor beyond her reach.

Fury was evident in every line of Tasha's expression when she saw how much worse Clint's condition was closer up. Severing the ropes allowed him to sag against her, and she was just strong enough again to be able to support his weight while half-dragging and half-carrying him to the back of the stage. She eased him to the floor despite his groan of protest.

"God, what has she done to you?" Tasha breathed. Her hands hovered centimeters away from making contact with him. Where could she touch that wouldn't bring added pain to his already pained expression?

"Used me as a pin cushion I s'pose," he breathed.

She chewed the inside of her lips until the urge to bawl all over his chest diminished enough for her to speak. "We're going to get out of here, but I have to seal your wounds first."

"What's that leprechaun doing here?" he croaked.

"Don't have time to care, but apparently he's saving our asses."

Her own body was used as a shield when a stray volley of magic burst apart against the back wall and sent debris raining down around them. When the brief danger had passed, she yanked a small canister from a utility pouch on her belt and started hosing his open wounds down. The contents-Tony had dubbed it the Banner Breakthrough-would form a skin-like barrier to stop the bleeding and prevent infectious material from getting inside.

Clint shifted. Discomfort was clear on his expression, but he made no protests nor demanded she stop treating him. Instead, he waited until the can had been expended before gripping her wrist. "Tash, I'm sorry. I was an ass."

"Tell me something I don't know," she responded, voice tight with emotion.

"It wasn't you. For fuck's sake, I love you."

She had to strain to hear him over the cacophony. Her throat fluttered as she attempted speech, but speech and reasonable thought abandoned her in the face of his whispered confession. Sure, she'd known it all along. They'd loved each other for years in one form or another, but they'd never given voice to their feelings before. There was something solid about hearing it from his lips.

"Tash…"

Her hand, smeared with his own blood, clamped over his mouth to prevent him from saying another word while she swallowed down the knot in her throat. Was it emotion? Or was it panic? Probably a bit of both, but he needed her to be present, to take that plunge instead of living in old fears. Something in her belly softened. Love hurt. Love could be used to manipulate. Love clouded logical emotion. And she suddenly did-not-freaking-care.

Her hand moved away from his mouth to kiss him, mindful of his split lip, and then she pressed her lips against his ear, cupping his opposite cheek in her palm to keep him close so that he and he alone could hear what she had to say. Three very little, very simple words were uttered beneath the rising crescendo of battle. When she pulled back to gaze down at him, there was a massive grin on his face.

* * *

Smoke billowed freely from the Grey mansion and neighboring houses, choking the air and causing lungs to burn. The cul-de-sac and surrounding properties looked more like a war zone than a gated community home to wealthy individuals. Christian, Captain America, and American Sniper had been forced to combine their strength in order to fend off the Executioner's attack, and no small amount of property damage had resulted from the epic battle. In the end, two Jotuns had been killed, and the Executioner, along with his remaining forces, had fled the field of combat when it had become obvious the advantage had been lost.

A drone of activity created a buzz in the air. First responders had arrived in a timely manner and were choking off access to the area to prevent onlookers from getting in the way. Flashing lights from their vehicles lit up the scene along with makeshift floodlights to beat back the gloom of coming nightfall. Firefighters were tackling the blazes to keep fire from spreading. Paramedics were treating wounds, and police were searching the rubble for survivors.

The greatest concentration of activity surrounded the fallen Jotuns. Modern people had never seen frost giants before, so there appeared to be a heated discussion going on regarding what would be done with the remains. Captain America seemed to be heading up SHIELD's interests until a team could arrive to confiscate the remains while police attempted to keep rubber-neckers at bay, no easy task with media swarming the area.

Christian, whom Jane could have sworn would be in the midst of the activity, was actually standing on the sidelines hugging Maia and making sure his family members were safe and unharmed. There was one positive check mark on his short list of good qualities. He was devoted to his family and obviously cared deeply about them. Then again, even Charles Manson probably had a certain list of desirable qualities or he wouldn't have been able to ensnare the interest and devotion of so many followers.

Jane, who had spent the battle shepherding people to safety and playing human bait to lure the Executioner into a trap, was sitting on the hood of Christian's Audi. Her arm was clutched against her chest. Pain made her lips thin and complexion wan. Forgetting that only a limited number of days had passed since Christian had initially broken her arm was easy when it felt more like a lifetime, but pain wasn't her greatest concern. She was just shy of desperate to get some information on how the search for Agent Barton fared. Skurge showing up out of the blue could mean any number of things with regards to Barton's safety.

American Sniper finally broke off from a group of police and headed in her direction. A sympathetic smile lightened his face. There was something wholesome-the man had removed the cowl of his uniform shortly after the conclusion of battle-about his looks. He was classically handsome in that All-American-Apple-Pie sort of way. The same could be said for Captain Rogers. They were just good, clean cut, attractive men.

"We're about done here," he said. "A transport is en route. Christian seems to be getting restless, though, and might make a play on separating you from the herd, so stay close to me."

"You got any crazy glue?" she asked. There was a enough chill in the air her thin jacket wasn't satisfactorily keeping her warm anymore.

"What do you need crazy glue for?"

"I'm going to permanently affix myself to your side, because my stress level is here." She lifted her hand over her head as high as it would reasonably go. "And I need my stress level to come back down to here." Her hand lowered to her chin. "Otherwise I might have a screaming fit that would make a banshee proud."

Bucky smirked and responded, "Thor might object to you being _that_ close, but I certainly wouldn't mind. Crazy glue away."

His comment elicited a little chuckle as she pulled her hands up into the sleeves of her jacket. "Have you heard anything from Thor's group? Are they safe? Have they found Agent Barton? Do they know about this whole mess?"

The man didn't respond until he'd procured a blanket from one of the paramedics and draped it around her shoulders. "We just heard from them a few moments ago. Stark radioed us to say they've found and secured Barton. He's alive and is being prepped for transport to a nearby hospital. Loki, whom I guess is some sort of magical expert, showed up unexpectedly and defeated the Enchantress."

Relief from the good news and added warmth sagged her shoulders. The Warm Fuzzies exploded through her belly and drained strength and adrenaline from her body upon hearing Clint was safe. Feeling responsible for his abduction only played a small part in her desire that he be safe and whole again.

Only afterwards did she realize what else Bucky had said. "Loki?"

"We're all shocked. Apparently Thor is beaming and Stark is threatening to make sunglasses standard issue for Avengers uniforms."

"Thank Heavens," she breathed. Truly, she was happy Thor was getting to see something sane and decent about his brother again.

And then the painfully brief interlude of companionable conversation was destroyed when Christian shouted, "You! Get away from my fiancée."

Jane groaned.

Bucky's expression seemed to convey_ "I got this bitch. Don't worry"_ before he turned to intercept the crazy train. "I think you should be worrying more about your family's health and rebuilding their estate than creeping after a woman who's had more than enough drama for one day. Back off."

"No, I'm not backing off. You Avengers have made sticking your noses in my affairs a habit for quite long enough. My relationships are off limits to your meddling." Christian clearly postured, his shoulders going straighter, his stance becoming more erect, his arms tense in a manner clearly meant to make himself look bigger and more intimidating.

"We've had our noses in your relationships? Poor baby. Does somebody need a cookie?" His tone was mild as he propped his hip against the Audi's front fender and pinned the other man with a steady glance, lips slightly cocked into a grin. He was innocuous, at ease, totally unconcerned with the subtle threat in front of them.

Up until Christian took one step nearer the Audi.

A flurry of movement-Bucky grasped the back of Christian's head with his metal hand and used the other man's momentum against him-resulted in her tormentor being slammed face-first against the hood next to her hip. A solid thud almost elicited a flinch, but the effects were immediate and profound in breaking Grey's attempts at establishing dominance.

"Shut your trap and open your ears for the next few minutes. Jane is under Avengers protection. Every time you get within a one mile radius of her, an Avenger will be on your ass like white on rice. Do you think any woman is worth that kind of hassle?"

Christian tensed, obviously straining in an effort to fight against the hold pinning him to the hood. His face turned red from his struggles, disbelief slowly bleeding through his expression when his magically-enhanced strength wasn't able to facilitate his freedom. "Let go of me," he hissed.

"So sorry. I'd like to comply, but you're still within a one mile perimeter. Sucks to be you, I guess." Bucky's expression and tone of voice were so lackadaisical the whole moment was transported into the realm of the surreal. They were acting out a Dali painting.

"How am I to withdraw to a one mile perimeter when you won't let me up?"

"Technicalities," chimed Bucky. "Now, I'm going to be extremely clear, clear enough even a brontosaurus could follow along. Do you see the cast on her arm?" He shifted his grip, a slight whirring sound accompanying movement as gears rotated, and turned Christian's head so the man could see Jane. "That cast is there because you broke her arm. You see that bruise on her jaw? It's there because you led Amora to her lab. In no world would that be considered love. That's psychosis, because you're a sick fuck in desperate need of a therapist."

"She agreed to be here." Christian's protests were quiet and breathy.

"Because it was the only way you would surrender Agent Barton's location. You left her no choice but to tolerate your unwanted advances, to place herself in a truly uncomfortable situation in order to save a man's life. Affection doesn't match that description. Cooperation, however, does. Big difference."

"Christian, we're not engaged," Jane interrupted. "We don't love each other. You were attracted to me because you have a psychological tick, and I happened match that tick. There's no way I can be any clearer. Thor is the man I want to spend my life with. You couldn't even begin to tempt me away from him."

Bucky sounded chipper when he continued. "Hear that? She's dating the god of thunder. Ain't no way you're holding a candle to the god of thunder. Are we understood?"

A look of obvious pain squeezed Christian's eyes closed. His body clenched one last time, and then he sagged against the hood of the car. "You manipulated me. You used my affection for you to achieve an end goal."

"Being manipulated doesn't feel so hot, does it." There was no inflection at the end of her comment that would make it a question. "I did what was necessary to save Agent Barton, but remember what this feels like the next time you attempt to manipulate some hapless woman."

His lips tightened. For a brief few seconds, he looked every bit the agonized lover who had just been rejected. "Fine. Take your faithless trollop and get off my family's property."

She almost felt sorry for him. He was a man tormented by emotional demons and psychological trauma, but she was distracted from her thoughts when the buzz of an incoming quinjet sounded in the distance. She turned briefly to watch the jet circle their position and come in for a smooth landing in the cul-de-sac the Grey property butted up against. Agents poured from the lowered ramp to start fanning throughout the crime scene.

And then the unexpected happened again.

Rather than releasing Christian, Bucky retrieved a pair of restraints from a utility pouch on his belt, jerked Christian's hands behind his back, and secured the cuffs before the other man could realize what was happening.

The action had an immediate reaction. Christian struggled mightily against the restraints. "What are you doing? I agreed to leave her alone and remain outside your one mile radius restriction. Release me."

"Whoever said a restraining order makes all your past misdeeds disappear? You still have to stand trial for the kidnapping of Mallory Adams, the assault on Pepper Potts, the attempted assault on Jennifer Walters, and the assault on Jane Foster. You'll get your day in court. Then you'll get to spend a few years sharing a cell with some fat Redneck who has 'love' tattooed on his knuckles."

Somewhere, Jane was certain there were chibi versions of Pepper and Jennifer joining the chibi Darcy by donning their girliest cheerleader uniforms and bounding around shouting things like _"Go Bucky!"_

* * *

A/N: I've been struggling with this chapter for weeks trying to get the flow right and shape until it was just so. I hope everyone enjoys it, and I hope this was worth the wait for all you Clintasha fans. I think I've finally settled on the next heroine.

Next Chapter: Natasha visits Clint in the hospital. Pepper and Tony have Loki babysitting duty.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty Eight

Tasha was wearing her favorite cowl-necked blouse and pumpkin-colored jacket when she stepped into Clint's hospital room. A week had passed since the assault on Quaquetal, and he had since been transferred to a SHIELD medical facility inside HQ in New York. His initial injuries had been substantial, but he was getting stronger by the day, something that was a great relief to everyone associated with the Avengers Initiative.

"Don't come in here wearing that jacket. You know the sight of you in that jacket does funny things to my masculine bits," he said, lips quirking in the direction of a smile.

The mention of his masculine bits caused a slight frown when Natasha remembered the state of his genitals after Amora had gotten through with him. She wanted to break the bitch out of her cell in the Vault and pulverize her face. A conscious effort to calm herself eased the tension holding her muscles tight.

"Right. So you're attracted to the color pumpkin the same way Grey is attracted to clumsiness. I'll remember that in future." She crossed the distance separating them when he held out his hand and laced their fingers together.

"Doc says I'll be good for release in a couple of days. Can't wait to get back to Avengers Tower and start terrorizing everyone. Or is Loki still there?"

"He is. Last I saw him, he was in the lounge wearing a pair of berry skinny jeans and a Darth Vader t-shirt staring creepily at Tony. I swear Loki can make the mundane look mental without even trying."

"Maybe you should come back to my place then."

"Your place? Clint, I've seen the inside of your place. Health inspectors would condemn it as a biological hazard and make every other tenant in the building move out."

"Come on. It's not that bad."

Tasha smoothed his hair back from his forehead and leaned over to kiss a healing bruise found there without even realizing what she was doing. "Whatever is growing in your bathroom sink could be classified as a science experiment."

A ridiculously bright smile lit his face up, and he reached over to play with her fingers. "Tell me you love me again."

Her expression didn't so much as sour as it became reticent. "Clint, I'm not going to turn into some bubbly teenager and draw hearts and kisses all over my notebook."

"Tell me." Something earnest was buried beneath the mock humor in his voice.

How could she deny him? He was the one laid up in a hospital bed recovering from being tortured by a psychopath. "I love you."

"I love you, Clint," he instructed her to say.

"I love you, Clint," she repeated before leaning down to kiss him. "Tell me why you were so angry when I invited you to live with me."

The man shifted slightly, his demeanor becoming all kinds of uncomfortable upon the resurrection of that particular subject. "Last time I lived with a girl because of a relationship, things went sour. She wound up pregnant and laid the paternity at my feet. I believed her until the last trimester when I caught her in bed with some dude. Paternity test said he was the father."

"Ouch. You want me to track her down and sew her vagina closed?" She looked deadly serious while making the offer. One word from Clint, and it would be curtains for his ex. That was how much she would do for him. The old saying went _"a friend would kill to defend you, but a true friend would kill to avenge you."_

"No thanks. Maybe if you'd asked me a few years ago, but not now." He glanced up when someone knocked on his door. A nurse greeted them while carrying a tray of food inside which was deposited on the rolling lap table. Only after she retreated did he continue, "It was knee jerk reaction when you asked me to move in. I got emotional and took it out on you. It won't happen again."

"You know you can tell me these things, right? If I ever stumble across one of your emotional ticks again, tell me what's going on in your head rather than isolating yourself. I'm here. I want to be here for you."

"Yeah. We're a pair, aren't we? We've got more issues than the New York Times." Clint reached over to pull the table closer and lift the lid. "What is it with hospitals and mashed potatoes? It's like there's a written rule they must be served every lunch and dinner."

She laughed a little. "So now that we have this sorted out, do you want try that thing where we cohabitate in the same apartment? You know, to get you away from the nuclear waste dump that is your place for the sake of your health."

He was silent for a few minutes, absently stirring his mashed potatoes with a fork. Only when he was ready did he respond, "I'd like that. Tash, you okay? You look a little green."

The combination of buttery mashed potatoes and greasy fried chicken was doing something terrible to her insides. Next thing she knew, she was hunched over the waste basket heaving up the egg salad sandwich she'd practically inhaled while racing from debriefing to the infirmary to see Clint. Egg salad was not nearly as delicious coming up as it was going down, she decided.

"Tash?" Clint was out of bed holding her hair back in a short pony tail, his other hand rubbing her back in a comforting manner. Clear concern could be heard in his voice.

She tried to wave him away out of a desire to protect him. If she were getting sick again, he didn't need to be around her. His health shouldn't be compromised while in an already weakened condition. Stubborn mule that he was, he refused to dislodge himself from her vicinity, and she couldn't force the issue while preoccupied with dry heaving.

Upon recovering enough, she straightened her stance. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. "Must be the flu or something. Doctors say it's going to be bad this year. You need to get back in bed, Clint. If I'm contaminated, you don't need to be around me."

In true stubborn mule fashion, the man insisted on cupping her chin and pressing his other palm against her face. "You don't feel feverish."

"For fuck's sake, would you do what I ask without argument for once? Get back in bed. I'll get checked by a doctor, and if it's flu, I'll see you again when I'm no longer a walking germ factory that could be used as a deadly weapon against you."

The man held his hands away from her. "Fine. You just concentrate on feeling better. I'll have Bruce pick me up and take me back to my apartment when I'm released. Bruce hasn't fled the state because of the Great Loki Occupation, as he?"

"No. He's presently living in a suite at the Ritz, because trying to put him under the same roof as Loki almost resulted in a Hulk-out moment." She felt a little better after having emptied her stomach, but the queasiness still gnawed at her belly.

"Then get yourself cleared by a doctor and meet me at my apartment when you can."

* * *

Silence permeated the lounge in Avengers Tower. Loki was practically sprawled across the sofa. Between his larger than life personality and ego, there wasn't enough room to comfortably fit another living body on what should have been a three person sofa. And he appeared to be enjoying every moment of it. The Darth Vader shirt and skinny jeans just made the whole sight completely surreal.

Pepper wasn't sure how it had come about that Tony and she were responsible for babysitting him while he was a guest under their roof. Darcy was out of town visiting her mother, and Jane had gone to see Agent Barton in the hospital. A few minutes afterwards, Tony had trotted into the lounge grinning his fool head off as though he'd gotten up to something mischievous with Loki in tow. He'd promptly informed her Thor was washing his hair, so they needed to keep an eye on Loki for a while. Clearly, her fiancé was up to something. He was just being tight-lipped about what that actually was.

Giving the god of mischief to Bruce for the afternoon was completely out of the question. Bruce couldn't even step foot under the same roof without his blood pressure skyrocketing. He'd tried, bless his heart. He'd gotten so far as easing into the lounge before his eyes had turned green, heralding an imminent Hulk moment. Actually being in the same room? Wasn't happening, and she wouldn't have even asked him to push himself that far.

So she was trying to ignore their guest and attempt to get something accomplished while she had Tony's attention. A book of swatches was open on the coffee table. David needed their decision on the table linens, but trying to wrestle Tony into helping with the wedding was becoming increasingly difficult, especially when Loki had been staring at him for the past half hour. There was bound to be an explosion at some point.

"Tony, look at me," Pepper instructed, and when he didn't immediately tear his gaze away from Loki, she resorted to pinching his arm.

He yelped. "What was that for?"

"We need to make a selection before this weekend. The venue is booked for February and can't be pushed back to a later date, so we have to get this information to David in order to meet the deadlines. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to get a Valentine's Day booking at The Chesterville House?"

His expression blanked. "Umm… No, but I bet you're going to tell me."

The utter boredom and downright crankiness in his voice was what ultimately undid her patience. Pepper slapped the book of swatches closed. "Forget it. Go back to your circuits, and when The New York Times runs an article about how Tony Stark hates his new wife because he made her go without table linens at their reception, don't come crying to me."

"Hey, I said I was going to do it." He reached over to open the swatches again.

She slapped her palms down on the cover to prevent him from doing so. "No. I'm sorry for having bored you to tears. I didn't realize you wanted a wife without a wedding."

"Why can't we just elope? Soon as Clint gets out of the hospital, we'll make for Vegas. Don't you want to get married by an Elvis impersonator?"

"I am _not_ getting married by an Elvis impersonator. All I've asked for is fifteen minutes of the slightest bit of interest helping me with the wedding. If you can't give me that much undivided interest, don't bother."

"You should be ashamed, Anthony, for showing so little care in the ceremony that will link your life with your woman," Loki quipped. "Your lack of interest is a sign of not taking pride in making her your wife."

"You shut your pie hole. No one invited you into my living room."

"I seem to remember a different conversation, one that involved abject worship because of my timely arrival and ability to defeat Amora, break her enchantment over the local population, and secure Barton's rescue. Speaking of Barton, I do look forward to seeing my minion again. Will he return soon?"

"If 'guess I owe you thanks' equates to abject worship, I'd hate to see your definition of groveling at your feet. You so much as speak one word to Barton, and you'll be sleeping in Motel Six faster than a starving dog can scarf down a steak," Tony said.

Loki appeared completely unflustered by the threat and even smirked. "I find your belief that you can order a prince of Asgard to do anything vastly amusing." He moved slowly, unfolding his legs and leaning forward to take the book of swatches out from under Pepper's hands. "What style building will house your reception, my dear?"

"Provincial gothic," she responded.

Tony became progressively more tense when the god of mischief thumbed through the pages, the Asgardian pausing now and then to test the texture of a swatch beneath his fingertips. "You're not invited to our wedding, you pasty hobgoblin."

Loki's smirk increased. "And the theme of your celebration?"

"There's no particular theme, but we've been working from a palette of warm colors."

"You're not seriously going to consider his suggestion, are you?" asked Tony.

Her tone was cold and irritated when she responded, "Why not? He's put more effort into his selection that you did."

Finally, Loki placed the book of swatches in front of Pepper and touched his selection. "The persimmon crepe accented with cornflower silk organza."

"That's it. Get out," Tony hissed.

"Anthony Edward Stark, you are not kicking him out of the tower because he showed you up when it comes to wedding planning. You asked him here as a favor to Thor. You're not backing out on your word when he hasn't broken any of the house rules."

Tony's expression became petulant and grumpy, which was generally a sign her scolding had hit a guilty nerve. "Saved by my angelic fiancée. You were that close." He held his thumb and first finger mere millimeters apart.

The Asgardian could only be described as having a look of gloating about him, but he remained silent while leaning back into the sofa and folding his legs beneath him.

"Pepper, my lack of interest in wedding planning is not a reflection of my interest in marrying you. This is just not fun to me."

"Going to your speeches at MIT commencements isn't fun for me either, but I do it because I love you and want to spend time with you. That's what couples do. They sometimes engage in activities they might not find interesting to make their partner happy."

"Is this like The Fifth Date Plan?"

"This is exactly like The Fifth Date Plan."

A smile finally returned to her expression upon remembering their first time together. Tony had been terrible about planning dates back then. His idea of a date had been a box of take out on the floor of his workshop while he took a break from whatever project he'd been working on. She'd needed him to be more interested in the fundamentals of their relationship if they were going to work as a couple.

So The Fifth Date Plan had been enacted. Tony had been given an ultimatum. As per the rules, he had been responsible for planning a romantic evening. He'd been allowed to use Jarvis to make reservations and look up information, but he hadn't been permitted to simply tell Jarvis to do it for him. Upon the successful completion of the task, she had informed him they would have sex for the first time. Never in her life had she seen him throw so much enthusiasm into doing something romantic.

Something finally clicked in Tony's expression, and one of his patented determined looks masked his features. He snatched up the book of swatches to pour through the offerings. Silence and intensity forestalled further conversation with him.

So Pepper turned to smile at Loki. "Would you like some wine?"

"I would be delighted to have a glass of wine," he responded.

Of course she despised what Loki had done. He'd terrorized an entire city, had brainwashed Clint and Erik, had been responsible for the deaths of numerous people, and his actions had almost resulted in Tony's death. Logic said she should hate him. Were they boxers, he would be Ivan Drago, and she would be Rocky Balboa. Only that's not how it worked out in her own head.

The man was mentally ill. Thor himself had described Loki as being unhinged. Apparently, he'd gone from a devoted son and brother to a raving madman after learning the true nature of his parentage, and that kind of switch generally denoted some underlying malfunction of the brain. How could she hate a man who was mentally ill?

While he was a guest under their roof and behaved himself, she would treat him with the dignity and respect any guest deserved. If he proved himself to be up to his old tricks, caused havoc in her household, hurt anyone, or attempted to torment Clint, she would be first in line to play Whack-A-Mole with his balls.

By the time she returned with three goblets and a bottle of white wine, Tony had finished pouring through the available options. He beamed proudly upon settling the book on the table. "Apricot taffeta trimmed with a border of crimson velvet."

Smiling, she cupped his chin and pulled him down for a kiss. "Sometimes you can be very frustrating, Tony, and then you do something wonderful that reminds me why I fell in love with you."

* * *

A/N: Because of course Loki had to have a cameo in this series at some point. He would have thrown a hissy fit if not.

Next Chapter: Tony's mischievousness is revealed. Tasha gets a disturbing letter in her locker.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty Nine

New York traffic had always been draining. Just being surrounded by the frenetic atmosphere of people buzzing about their daily lives exhausted Jane, so she was looking forward to a hot bubble bath and then a quiet night with Thor upon returning to Avengers Tower from visiting Agent Barton. Clint looked much stronger than when she'd initially seen him not long after his rescue, and he'd been bored enough to truly appreciate the stack of archery magazines and a copy of Tolkien's _Unfinished Tales_ she'd brought along as presents.

Pressing her thumb against the lock allowed the door to swish open. She deposited her worn, leather satchel on the foyer table and padded toward the bathroom. And then she ran smack dab into a solid, damp, naked body coming out of said bathroom. She shouted and scrambled backward to put distance between herself and the intruder.

"Careful, Jane," Thor intoned in a voice that was deep and silky. An arm slid around her back to prevent her from backpedaling too far.

Saved from backing into his pile of armor, which naturally would have tripped her up and placed her solidly on her ass in the middle of the floor, by the god of thunder's naked forearm. That wasn't the most notable part. His naked forearm was gorgeous, naturally, but it was the naked chest, torso, and everything else that peaked her pulse as though she'd just run a marathon.

A tack popping out of the wall and hitting the floor could have been heard in the loaded silence that followed. Her mouth went dry as stale bread, and no matter how much she told herself not to look, she looked, eyes roaming over the sculpted body in front of her and dipping down in the direction of his crotch. _Even a nun would look_, she shrieked to herself, face hot.

The spell was broken when Thor cleared his throat and untangled his arm from around her waist. "Did you need something?" He seemed a little flustered himself and clarified, "Do not mistake my meaning. Your company is always most pleasing, but did you come to my chambers for a purpose beyond wishing to spend time together?"

"Your chambers?" Confusion could be found in the dictionary as a synonym for Jane. "These are my chambers. Why else would my thumb print be stored in the registry?"

"Anthony instructed me the fifty-fifth floor, apartment C were my guest chambers during my stay. This is the fifty-fifth floor, and we are standing inside apartment C."

She found her eyes dropping south of his chin again and made a conscious effort to drag her glance back to safer territory. "No, he specifically gave me an information packet… Could you put on a towel or something? That is distracting." She waved her hand in his general direction, because her eyes were roaming again.

The massive, muscle-bound god of thunder in all his golden glory, honed physique, and silky, unblemished skin smirked. He actually smirked. And one of his pectoral muscles flexed.

"Clothes!" Jane reminded him. "Or I won't accountable for where my eyes wander."

"Would such be a bad thing?"

"Yes. We have to spend more than a week and a half in each other's presence before any ravishing of Jane's reproductive organs takes place!" Oh God, she was going to die of mortification. How was she ever going to stick to her one month rule, wherein she wouldn't have sex with a man she hadn't dated for at least a month?

The smirk broadened into a full-fledged smile before he responded, "As you wish."

"And don't stay that!" Because it reminded her of Wesley in _The Princess Bride_, and she had spent the entirety of her teenage years absolutely butt-crazy in love with Wesley.

"Your wish is my command?"

"Or that." He made it sound like a caress!

"I am yours to command. Speak your will, and I will see it done." The giant smile on his face made it evident he was enjoying seeing her so flustered.

Desperate to stop her rioting hormones-her eggs were banding together and screeching with one voice that they desperately wanted to make babies with Thor Odinson-from destroying every shred of her willpower, she reached up and plastered her hand over his mouth to somehow make him stop spouting such amazingly delicious things. And if he bit or licked the center of her palm like in one of Darcy's bodice rippers, she was going to combust. Poof! Buh-bye Jane Foster, level-headed astrophysicist on the verge of harnessing wormholes for interplanetary travel.

A chuckle rumbled in Thor's barrel-like chest.

After a full minute of silence, she eased her palm away from his mouth. "Could you please put some clothes on?"

"Of course, Dear Heart." But he was still grinning like a loon when he padded over to retrieve the track pants neatly folded on the bed and slipped them on. "By the by, what is the purpose of these? I found them beneath the pillow."

Instant combustion. Heat licked at her cheeks and caused her face to turn red as a beet upon glancing over to see Thor holding a row of condom packets aloft. Face was introduced to palms. A tiny groan was forthcoming. "Those are condoms," she croaked. "It's a sleeve that goes over your…masculine…thingie…and traps your… They protect against a man getting a woman pregnant. Tony, I'm going to kill you!"

"A sleeve that goes over my…" Understanding dawned, his brows arching and eyes widening when he fully grasped her meaning. "Then that explains the confusion over whose chambers these are. Anthony did promise a locked door and sturdy bed when we arrived at Avengers Tower, so he clearly means for us to share these chambers."

"And those condoms," she squeaked.

"We have nothing like this on Asgard. Asgardian reproduction is delicate. It is nothing for a couple to go hundreds of years without being able to reproduce living offspring, so stopping that miniscule chance of pregnancy is unwise when every offspring is valuable."

Really? They were going to have to a serious conversation while Thor was standing there half naked next to a bed holding onto condoms? Color didn't leave her cheeks just yet. "Nature's way of making up for your long lives, I suppose."

"Pardon?"

"If you were able to breed as efficiently as humans, you would overpopulate and decimate your resources far too quickly. So nature balanced your long lives with the inability to breed efficiently."

"Jane, there is no need for embarrassment." Thor placed the packets on the nightstand and returned to cup her cheeks and prevent her from hiding her face again. "What I feel for you goes beyond the physical. Nothing untoward will happen between us until you are ready and willing. I will not pressure you for nor expect anything physical."

She grasped his wrists and finally settled herself enough to meet his glance. "I want to be physical with you. Just not yet. We need to get to know each other without sex clouding the issues. We need to make sure this works, that we work on a level beyond physical attraction."

"I agree. There are many obstacles facing what we can be together. They must be acknowledged before deepening our relationship else we risk hurting each other. I would rather deny myself the treasure of your femininity for a thousand years than risk hurting you."

Moisture pricked her eyes for a moment. He said some of the most beautiful things. She would probably walk around with Warm Fuzzies the rest of her life after having been exposed to Thor's brand of chivalry.

Eventually, she broke the comfortable silence, time in which Thor finally hid the glory of his chest beneath a t-shirt advertising the movie _300_, to say, "Can you stay here on Earth for a while, or do you have to rush back to Asgard?"

"Loki and I must escort Amora back to Asgard where she will be tried for her crimes."

"You must be relieved to see him doing so well."

His expression soured slightly. "There was a time when I feared killing my own brother an inevitability and the only way to protect the realm I've grown to love and the people I've come to respect. A part of me will always love Loki and hope only for the best where he's concerned, but there is the very real possibility he will betray me again. And then I will have no other course of action but to choose the safety of the universe over my brother."

She tried to show him with her expression the sympathy she felt for his position. "I can't imagine how terrible that must feel."

"Do you have siblings?"

"I have Darcy. She's come to be like a sister to me. I have an older sister in Maine, but we haven't spoken since my father's death."

"What quarrel lies between you that would prevent you from speaking?"

"She kept all our father's research notes and diplomas. Since I spent so much time with him while he was alive, she claimed she was entitled to all the physical mementoes."

"Try, Jane. Family is important. Try to reconcile before it's too late."

"I have tried."

"Then try again. And again. And again until there's no more time left to try."

She nodded her understanding and pulled him forward into her embrace to settle her cheek against his chest and feel the solid thud of his heart against the inside of his breast. "I will. Will you be able to come back from Asgard?"

Tension tightened his frame, and his arms wrapped firmly around her. "I know not. Father thinks it unwise to use the tesseract to repair the Bifrost. The Chitauri were drawn to Earth because your scientists activated it. They were able to read its energy signature even from their great distance. The possibility exists they will be drawn to Asgard were we to activate it."

"And you can't risk another war with the Chitauri while the dark elves are making pests of themselves."

"Correct. There are limits to what even Asgard can face."

A terrible ache clenched her heart. Maybe he would come back a day later. Maybe a year later. Maybe she would never see him again, and memories of him would fade into silent longing and unrequited love. Maybe she would complete technology that would allow her to establish contact with Asgard from her end. But that was a whole lot of maybes for her to rest her entire future on. Could she live without Thor? Sure. She'd lived for thirty years without him and could go the rest of her life if he were denied her. Did she want to live the rest of her life without him if she had a choice in the matter? That was the real question.

Jane pulled in a shuddering breath when the answer crystallized sharp and bright into the forefront of her thoughts. There was no consideration given. She didn't plan things out in her mind. Words just rushed from her in a jumble when she exclaimed, "Then take me with you."

"You would go with me to Asgard?" Hope bloomed on his visage.

"If you'll have me."

"Asgard will have you if for no other reason than for my sake. You are here, Jane Foster." Thor clasped her hand and flattened it over his heart. "The intensity of my feelings for you is illogical. We have spent painfully little time together, but that doesn't stop how I feel. Are you certain this is what you want?"

"This is crazy," she breathed upon pulling her head back far enough to gaze up into his handsome face. Despite her words, there was a giddy smile on her lips, her eyes wide with wonder. "I'm only certain about one thing. You are worth the risk. If we don't work out, I'll figure out a place for myself among your people."

"I don't understand your phrase. If we don't work out?"

"If something happens and our emotions eventually cool toward one another. If your father doesn't allow us to be together. You're a prince of Asgard. He may object to you being with a lowly human."

"My father will undoubtedly object. If I cared about his objections, I wouldn't be here. I will have you with or without his blessings. But it's not possible for my affection for you to cool, Dear Heart. Selfishly, I won't even try to talk you out of your decision."

Jane's fingers laced with his, and her gaze was unwavering. Certainly, her decision was the textbook definition of rash. Things could become extremely uncomfortable if Thor and she eventually separated. It was possible despite his protests. But the idea of being stuck on Earth while he was on Asgard was just shy of miserable. Take a leap, Darcy would say. Well, she was ready to make a massive leap.

"No, wait!" she suddenly exclaimed when something dawned on her.

Thor stiffened. A deep wariness tightened his features.

"There are two things I'm certain of," she went on to explain. "You and Asgard's scientific possibilities are worth the risk. Oh my God, I can't believe hormones momentarily clouded me to what's really important. Because…science!"

* * *

Tasha felt all kinds of queasy when she stopped by her locker at HQ to get her gym bag full of stinky clothes that needed to hit the laundry. The nausea seemed to come and go randomly, but she hadn't had time to make an appointment with SHIELD doctors, certain that her enhanced healing would take care of the problem on its own. She was just having a hard time shaking the bug.

She inclined her head to Maria Hill, who strolled down the row of lockers to her own, and acknowledged the woman by saying, "Agent Hill."

"Agent Romanoff," the other woman responded.

Whatever was wrong with her stomach needed to go away by tomorrow. Clint was finally being released from the hospital and was stubbornly refusing to set foot inside Avengers Tower while Loki was present. He couldn't even stand the thought of being under the same roof with the Asgardian. She understood the sentiment. Loki had hurt Clint more than any of the rest of them. It was one thing to be attacked and forced to defend oneself against an aggressor. It was a whole different game to be used to kill the very people one was sworn to defend.

A scowl of discomfort twisted her features when she finally reached her locker. Her stomach twisted dangerously, but she snatched up the envelope tucked in the crack of her locker door rather than immediately rushing for a trash can or sink. The queasiness subsided enough to make dashing madly toward the bathroom unnecessary.

She tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter to scan its contents.

_From: SHIELD Medical Department_

_13029 Rollings Boulevard_

_Suite 3B_

_Queens, New York 11374_

_To: Natasha Romanoff_

_Field Agent_

_Locker 195_

_RE: Contraceptive Implant Recall For Implants With Serial Number 45493B-523_

_Dear Agent Romanoff,_

_We are writing to inform you of a recent recall on contraceptive implants. Our records show you were the recipient of one such device….._

That was as far as she got before Natasha sat where she stood, because it was either sit down or hit the floor in a dead faint.

* * *

A/N: Is Natasha preggers with a little feathered baby? Stay tuned to _Christian Grey Vs. Rogue _to find out.

Next Chapter: A troubling occurrence at the Vault installation in Colorado and the honeymoon is short lived in the Clintasha apartment.


	30. Christian Grey Vs Rogue

Christian Grey Vs. Rogue

Chapter Thirty

A jarring explosion rocked The Vault's exterior courtyard, surrounded on three sides by thirty foot tall electrified and laser-enhanced fencing. Imposing gates were located on the eastern wall and defended by search lights, numerous guards, and mounted guns. The fourth side was protected by the face of a mountain which had been sheared off to create a vertical surface. Guardsmen were shouting over the cacophony of sound while attempting to herd escaped prisoners back into custody.

Flames of crimson and yellow and orange and vibrant, intense blue erupted when a second explosion followed the first, creating enough of a distraction to allow Christian and his cohorts the freedom to move through the courtyard. There were five of them in all, two women and three men, and the commotion of various other rioting prisoners meant their passage went unnoticed by the guards.

Christian's arm clamped around one of the women to pull her tight and keep her pressed against his side. As soon as a knot of guards passed, he beat-feet toward the imposing gates. The gates would be the hardest to breach, so he ducked in behind an outbuilding and watched while inmates rushed them en masse in an attempt to gain freedom to the outside world.

Mounted guns swung around toward the courtyard side and strafed bullets within a thirty foot perimeter. Several inmates were struck down, screams of pain elicited as they writhed to get out of the danger zone. Guardsmen, all dressed in high tech metal armor, were steps behind them but couldn't risk entering the perimeter with the guns activated.

"Disengage the turret guns!" shouted a guardsman.

His command produced an immediate response. The guns ceased peppering the area, a bit of smoke puffing from a barrel, and allowed guards to enter the strike zone to collect bodies or restrain inmates who had survived the initial barrage. That one moment of laxity allowed for an exploitable advantage.

Now was the time. Christian shifted his position in the narrow alley between outbuildings and beckoned to one of his cohorts. Each of his fellow escapees had been carefully selected based upon their abilities. Mutants all, of course. Except one; his visitor from earlier in the evening. She was no mutant but more important to him than any of his recruits.

"Mister Saunders, the gates," he said in a calm voice.

Neville came around him and pressed his hands in the direction of said gates. A wave of energy exploded against solid steel and caused both gates to shudder.

"Again," instructed Christian.

Waves of kinetic energy were pushed out from his palms until reinforced hinges gave beneath the pressure. One gate sagged, swiveled momentarily, and then collapsed outward with a thunderous boom under another burst of momentum. Shouts of dismay and commands being issued rose up from the gate's defenders. They attempted to assemble in front of the damaged gates to cut off escape, but there were too many inmates running loose in the courtyard. Their manpower was spread too thin t be wholly effective.

"Debra," he intoned.

Miss Reynolds stepped forward. "I'm ready whenever you give the signal, Mister Grey."

"Everyone stay close. The final push must be precise. Anyone who dawdles will be left behind. We will not wait for you nor come back to retrieve you."

"Are you sure this is going to work?"

He briefly turned his glance toward the woman on his arm, a slight smirk forming on his lips. "Of course. How can you even question my plan? Miss Reynolds, on my mark."

Christian made certain to keep his grip on the woman leaning against him and counted down from three. When he reached zero, Debra brought forth a wall of lava from her fingertips. Darting in behind the lava allowed them to make a play on reaching the gates as Guardsmen scattered to avoid being incinerated. Staying close enough the guards in the towers wouldn't be able to shoot them with manual rifles but far enough back to avoid incineration themselves was their only chance.

Lava crashed against the only gate still standing, causing it to shudder in protest, and then they were breathing free air. Freedom caused a quick jolt of excitement when they maneuvered around the other downed gate and made for the hills. They would be pursued, naturally, but that was where Mister Giamati came into the mix.

"Max, if you please," Christian commented.

Guards were just coming through the gate after them when Max Giamati latched onto the hand Christian held in his direction. Everyone clasped hold of their neighbor as their fellow escapee pulled them into a pocket of accelerated movement. Within seconds, they were zipping away from the area at an astounding speed, leaving the chaos of the Vault complex behind.

* * *

Natasha woke drenched in sweat. Damp sheets clung to her bare legs, and she struggled to drag in a deep enough breath to soothe her starved lungs. A knife from the sheath affixed to the headboard of her bed was clutched in hand as she jerked her gaze from shadow to shadow to determine what had disturbed her slumber.

Nothing.

"Tash, what's wrong?" Clint asked, words sleep-slurred.

She reached over to flick on the lamp on the nightstand, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and buried her face in her palms while the last vestiges of a nightmare gripped her conscious thoughts. Trying to remember the entirety of the dream wasn't possible. All she had were bits and pieces of images still clinging to the insides of her eyelids, a pale foot sticking out from beneath a blanket, lifeless fingers just barely visible beneath the homespun cloth, a voice echoing in the depths of her mind. A woman. No, a midwife speaking in slurred Russian. _"She would not breathe. Gone, madam. The baby was born dead."_

There was barely enough time for her to lurch out of bed before what remained of her dinner splattered all over the hardwoods. Not this again. By the time she was finished and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, Clint was out of bed and sweeping her up against his solid chest to carry her into the bathroom where he flicked the light on and settled her on the edge of their soaker tub.

"Do you need a doctor?"

Words became lodged in her throat.

"Tash, I don't know how to help you unless you talk to me."

She couldn't respond while memories long buried gouged fingers of heartbreak into her brain. Dirt was caked under her nails. Dried tears caused visible tracks through the filth on her face while she dug a shallow grave into the Siberian permafrost. That little bundle of cloth lay limp and lifeless when the infant should have been crying for her first feeding. Dead. A corpse. Worm food. A tormented sound that was only half-human escaped her lungs as she attempted to hide from the terrible images by covering her face again. Tasha rocked back and forth. Her breathing barreled out of control.

"The hippopotamus sings in drag," Clint whispered beneath his breath.

Just like that, the terror fled. Her breathing evened until she didn't feel on the verge of hyperventilating, and she was able to stop shuddering. Creating the code and implanting it into the depths of her psyche had been necessary. Years working with the Russian KGB, all the terrible things she'd done during her career, had left her prone to moments of supreme anxiety. Whenever Clint said that particular collection of words, she immediately knew it was him. She immediately knew they were safe.

More than a year had passed since her last episode, so she'd hoped that psychological tick had disappeared. No such luck. Memories of her past deeds would never fade. They would never stop. They would never slink into the murky depths of old remembrances to become fuzzy and uncertain.

Wetness glistened on her cheeks when Clint finally pried her face from her palms. A silent moment passed between them as he brushed his thumb across the ridge of her cheekbone to dry the moisture. Then he smiled.

"There's my bucket of sunshine," he murmured.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"I could totally make you."

"Only if you laid one on me right here." He touched his lips.

Leaning over, she briefly pressed their lips together only to retreat seconds later. One didn't make out with one's significant other after having vomited. "God, I can't believe I threw up all over the floor. Let me get a bucket and the mop."

"I'll take care of it. Just get yourself into that tub and relax."

Christmas Eve meant Avengers Tower was quiet when Clint, a few lingering bruises still marring his skin, leaned over the side of the tub to engage the stopper. Warm water soon poured from the spout, and he even sprinkled her favorite bath salts, a spicy fragrance tinged with an undertone of oranges, into the tub before leaving to clean up her mess.

How would she find the words to tell him?_ "Hi, I might be pregnant, but I've been putting off having a test done because I'm terrified I might have your spawn growing in my uterus, and for fuck's sake, just tell me what to do!"_ was not normal conversation. She didn't even know she was pregnant, not for sure. Knowing whether or not she intended to carry the baby to term was an entirely different quandary. Women had options these days. Her even more so thanks to the Black Widow enhancements designed to kick in and cause a miscarriage after four months of gestation. By her calculations, she had two months to figure out what she would do, whether or not she should have the kid.

Team Instinct and Team Sentiment possessed fully stocked larders and were prepared for an extended siege. The war would be epic. Both were in command of an arsenal of deadly ammunition. Both weren't afraid of firing nuclear warheads.

Team Instinct insisted nothing good awaited a child of her loins. Either the kid would become an orphan to be reared by Pepper and Tony or one of any number of agencies who wanted her head on a platter would fully exploit the kid to get to her. No matter which outcome happened, her kid would suffer.

Team Sentiment wailed about zygotes originating from Clint Barton's genetic material being entirely special and deserving of the chance to make it to adulthood. This wasn't the result of some mark she'd spent the night with to improve her chances of successfully completing a mission. This was Clint's child.

Trapped. Trapped like a rat with a paw stuck in a mousetrap. Trapped between a mountain and the Grand Canyon, and the only escape was to leap off the Grand Canyon and hope like fuck she lived through it.

"Tash, you going to let that water spill over?" From the sounds of things, it wasn't the first time Clint had tried to call her attention to the water spout.

Jumping, she looked toward him, all kinds of confusion written all over her face. How could she be so damned confused? She'd never wanted kids before! She would be a terrible mother! But… _Clint Barton_, she shouted to herself.

"Honey, what's wrong?" he asked, obvious concern in his voice when he padded back inside. One hand was employed to turn off the running water while the other settled on her knee.

She pulled in a deep breath. "You've never called me 'honey' before."

"And you've never spaced out this badly post-anxiety attack before. Talk to me. We said we were going to start talking about bullshit like this."

"I don't know." Whatever she'd been about to say died when both their SHIELD issue phones started blaring at the same time. "We need to get that."

Annoyance thinned his lips, but he shoved back to his feet. "You get in that tub and rinse off. I'll find out what it is."

Water splashed over the sides when she obediently slipped down into the tub. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and her arms wound around her legs while she stared off into the white haze of her bathroom. _Their bathroom_, she corrected herself. Seeing Clint's things about the apartment was still jarring.

Talking him into coming home had been difficult. Thor was reluctant to take Jane away from Earth until after the holiday season, so Loki was still in residence. Clint had fought the idea practically kicking and screaming until finally relenting when she'd pointed out how Loki interpreted Clint's absence from the tower. The god of mischief's interpretation had involved words like "cowardly" and "fear" and "trauma."

So she'd snuck him in during the dead of night while everyone else had been sleeping. He'd popped down to breakfast one morning unannounced and had taken everyone by surprise, especially the god of mischief. They had since established a temporary truce of sorts. Loki resisted the urge to bait Clint to avoid being immediately dragged back to Asgard and Clint resisted the desire to put an arrow through Loki's eye socket under penalty of disappointing Thor and ruining Christmas.

Naturally, her thoughts returned to the present state of her uterus. A hand slipped down to cover her stomach. Approaching the subject logically seemed impossible. All those times she'd joked about Clint being the one to give birth to their fat babies, she hadn't actually been asking for a child. The contraceptives SHIELD used were top notch. Agents had to be able to reliably regulate pregnancy given their line of work and the likelihood female agents would have to use their sexuality as a weapon.

So of course she'd wound up with the one faulty batch of implants. Naturally. She was the poster child for Murphey's Law.

Clint's return disrupted her thoughts when he came to stand in the doorway. "What were you going to tell me before that interruption?"

"Nothing. It's fine. I just freaked out because of a nightmare."

"Bullshit. Nightmares have never made you flip out that badly, and you've been spaced out since the Amora incident. Now tell me the truth."

"I told you this would happen," she said emphatically. "I warned you things would be different between us if we took up orgasm based pair bonding."

"A relationship, Romanoff," he said, his tone bristling a little. "We took up a relationship. Call it what it is, and stop distancing yourself from it."

Silence was interrupted only by the sound of water lapping against the tub walls whenever she shifted. Finally, she said, "I warned you things would be different if we began a relationship. Amora took you, and I've never been so unhinged."

"Look, I'm sorry you had to go through that, but you'll just have to deal. Jane is living proof that no matter who you take up with, they'll be dragged into the lifestyle. Me or Joe Blow, someone would target either of us to get to you."

"Even better reason for me to…"

His tone turned sharp when he said, "Don't. Don't you even finish that sentence. Let's nip this in the bud here and now, and I don't ever want to have this conversation with you again. I'm in your life. Deal with it. At least you're with someone who has the skills to protect himself during all but the most unusual of circumstances."

She nodded once. "Likewise, because I'm sure you have a past out there somewhere chomping at the bit to come between us. Who was on the phone?"

"Director Fury. There's been an incident at the Vault. Details are still fuzzy, but there was a prison break."

Dread almost made her sick again. "Please don't tell me Amora has escaped."

"No, her cell wasn't involved and remains intact."

"Then who?"

"Christian Grey. Apparently, a visitor lounge in Cellblock F was overrun and caused a mass escape attempt. That ward is mostly low level criminals or people awaiting trial."

No other sigh since the advent of sighing could come close to comparing to the put-upon irritation and disbelief of Natasha's. Because…really? "When's transport arriving?"

"Thirty minutes, but if we're really good, we might get back in time for cranberry sauce."

"I hate cranberry sauce."

"You've never even tried cranberry sauce."

"I'm Russian. I hate cranberry sauce."

"Guess the only way I'm ever going to get you to try it is by smearing it all over my di…" His comment ended in a laugh when Tasha splashed water all over him.

Then something sharpened into focus behind Tasha's eyelids. A name. "Rose" had been carved into a makeshift grave marker. It stood its lonely vigil deep in the Siberian wilderness next to a ramshackle old cabin. They'd been real. Those images she'd seen upon waking hadn't been some dark terror of the night brought upon by the possibility of her pregnancy. She'd given birth to a child once, long before the Black Widow program.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for reading and taking the time to leave so many lovely comments. I'm pleased as punch people are enjoying this. I want to give a special shout-out to sv4me for providing me with valuable information regarding Black Widows and pregnancy. Also, I'm pretty sure the Vault has been destroyed in recent Marvel comics, but I liked the possibilities for added subplots and tension from the Vault and decided to resurrect it from the ashes. I, however, have no idea what it looks like and will be making up all the descriptions of the facility.

Next Chapter: Rogue lends a hand mopping up after the escape, Clint invokes the name of the devil.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty One

Deep in the heart of the Colorado Rockies, a massive triangular opening in the sheared-off face of a mountain allowed entrance into the Vault facility. Rogue, having picked up distress calls on her X-Men communication device, circled over head. A laser grid formed a net over the top of the courtyard to prevent unauthorized access from overhead but allowed an unobstructed view of the proceedings. Things inside weren't as they should be on Christmas Eve. The skeletal holiday staff should be enjoying egg nog or exchanging silly office gifts rather than defending against rioting prison inmates.

Several vehicles and outbuildings burned, smoke billowing in long columns that could be seen rising from the mountains for miles around. The scent of burning rubber was heavy in the air and made breathing through the noxious fumes difficult. Guardsmen, all wearing modified armor, were rushing about trying to contain the fires and wrangle back into custody more than a dozen escapees who were attempting to make a concerted effort against the damaged gates in order to flee into the surrounding hills. Finding them in the mountains would be difficult.

Shocks of white hair framing her face, she touched down outside the perimeter fence. One gate had come completely free of its hinges and was now lying useless on the ground and blocking road traffic attempting to bring help to the damaged facility. Her first order of business was to clear the road of debris, so she clasped the hunk of metal-the steel was nearly two feet thick-and heaved it to the side. Muscles strained beneath the tight carbon-fiber weave of her green and yellow bodysuit, but she generated enough power to shove the gate off the road and reopen access to the Vault.

She was just dusting her hands off when a slim prisoner slipped past the guardsmen with a few deft moves and broke toward a deep gulch running parallel to the road. Water drained into the gulches located on either side of the facility and funneled away from the Vault where it was dumped into Morelai Lake. Allowing said prisoner to reach the cover of the lake wasn't an option. A burst of flight deposited her in front of the escapee, cutting off her access. Rigorous training allowed her to bring the inmate back into custody in time for a guardsman to arrive.

"Name's Rogue, Sugar," she drawled in a Mississippian accent slowly being watered down by life in Westchester, New York.

"Guardsman Marcus, Ma'am. You're one of Professor Xavier's, right?" The guard flipped his faceplate up revealing a middle-aged man. Deep pock marks marred his face.

"Ma'am? Now you're just making a girl feel old. Down South, a ma'am is someone who might be more than five minutes older than you. Bless your heart, but I'm still twenty-five and holding." She followed it up with a charming smile.

The guardsman did a double-take, as though he wasn't sure whether or not she was insulting him. Well, he was older and more grizzled, so he had been insulting her by saying she looked older than him. Rogue was just too polite to lead him through her turn of logic.

"Need a hand mopping this up?" she prompted.

He cleared his throat. There was a brief moment when his eyes finally dipped below her face before jerking back to safer territory above her throat. "We could use all the hands we can get right now. If you're willing and aren't afraid of getting your hands dirty."

"A curious phrase, Sugar, considering the state of my hands." She wiggled her fingers to draw attention to the yellow gloves protecting every hand she shook from her mutation.

Guardsman Marcus' only response was a blush. Then he cleared his throat once again, dropped his faceplate-there was something remarkably similar about the guardsmen uniforms-back into place, and indicated the gap in their defenses.

Always aware of the glances that followed her around, she hurried through the damaged gates to the interior. Every inch of her physique was on display in the skin tight uniform, so she couldn't blame them for looking. They'd be shocked to find out her suit hadn't been created for their viewing pleasure but because it was ergonomically suitable for the physical nature of her job. Excess cloth tended to be detrimental to hand to hand combat, and the suit moved freely. But as long as they didn't get grabby, she would file their stares away as background information.

Years of training in the Danger Room and being flung flat on her ass by Logan meant she possessed the necessary skill to succeed in situations where the guardsman with their heavy armor failed. She nullified three inmates in short order before turning her attention toward a knot of guards attempting to corral a mutant whose agility made pinning him down difficult.

Turned out the escapee also packed a wallop of a punch. Rogue hit the dirt when he struck her in the shoulder, but she didn't stay down. A few well-timed moves gave her the upper hand and allowed her to force him face-first into the pavement. She straddled his waist and yanked his arms up behind his back at an awkward angle. The brief skirmish hadn't even caused her to break a sweat.

One of the guardsmen-she wasn't pointing fingers, mind you-muttered, "God, I'd kill to be that inmate right now. Can you imagine those thighs?"

A brief scowl pulled her lips down only to disappear seconds later. Most men were polite enough not to say it out loud. "Ya'll got anymore cuffs for me, Sweethearts?"

Accepting one of four pairs of restraints suddenly thrust in her direction, she secured the prisoner's hands behind his back. Tiny needles on the underside of the restraints caused pinpricks in the soft tissue of his wrists and delivered a dose of serum. The serum targeted mutant markers in his blood, effectively rendering him incapable of using his mutation. The professor was still looking into the manufacture and legality of the serum.

Control was just being reestablished inside the courtyard when a SHIELD quinjet zipped overhead. Rogue paused to pull her hair back into a quick ponytail and watch the jet's progress. It circled twice before the laser grid evaporated at the behest of air traffic controllers in the two guard towers, allowing said jet to come in for a smooth landing on one of three elevated landing pads. Naturally, SHIELD had a vested interest in the situation.

She turned to address Guardsman Marcus again only to catch him staring in the general space her ass had taken up before turning. "Marcus," she snapped. When he finally lifted his gaze, she continued, "My face is up here, Sweetheart. Keep them peepers glued here." She made a gesture to indicate her face.

The man bristled a little but possessed enough manners not to say whatever foul thing was floating around inside his head. "Of course, Ma…" He caught himself before finishing.

"Do you got a list of missing prisoners yet?" she asked. "Has everyone been accounted for, or should I start a-making circuits of the surrounding mountains?"

"We're in the process of compiling a list now. We know of at least four inmates who successfully breached the gate before our team could respond in full force."

The redheaded woman who'd emerged from the quinjet interrupted by asking, "How did this happen? You're a maximum security facility designed to hold super-powered criminals."

Rogue recognized the newcomers as Black Widow and Hawkeye from the Avengers Initiative. One couldn't live on the east coast without knowing about the Avengers after that unfortunate Chitauri business. "Agent Romanoff, Agent Barton, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm sure."

"Hi," Barton returned, cool as a cucumber. "Didn't know Professor Xavier had a team in the area. Anything we should know about?" Not all men were perverts who couldn't keep their eyes to themselves, as evidenced by Barton's sure and confident perusal of her face.

"I was a-heading home from tracking a transient mutant for the professor when news broke about trouble here at the prison. Thought I'd swing by to see if they could use reinforcements."

Natasha didn't look at all inclined toward niceties when she merely inclined her head and asked again, "How did this happen, Guardsman?"

"Teams are still creating an incident report, so our information is sketchy. What we know for certain is that the scuffle began in a visitation lounge in Ward F. We were nearing completion of extended visiting hours because of the holiday when fighting broke out in the visitor lounge. Seemed to spread outward from there."

"Get me a list of all the prisoners and visitors in the lounge at the time the incident started, and we need a roll call. Tell me how many prisoners are still missing," Natasha ordered.

"We're working on it, Agent Romanoff."

"Work faster," Barton commented. "Some of us would like to get home in time for Christmas. We're totally not going to agree to be on call for Christmas next year, Romanoff."

* * *

Tasha crouched amidst the wreckage inside the visitation lounge. Tables and chairs had been flung haphazardly around the room. Garish Christmas decorations had been scattered in all directions. Scorch marks marred the pristine white walls, but no one had been killed in the ensuing chaos before fighting had spilled out into the rest of the facility. Either the escape had been organized, or defenses at the Vault had been lax due to the Christmas holidays.

"What do you think, Tash?" asked Barton.

"I'm thinking this is turning out to be a crappy Christmas," she muttered. "I'm also thinking they had outside help. The mutants at the facility are kept subdued through a special serum. Professor X is going to have something to say about that when Rogue reports to him."

"You think there's a snowballs chance in Hell he doesn't already know about the serum?"

She made a noncommittal sound to acknowledge she'd heard him and pushed aside bits of paper. A lipstick case had rolled beneath said paper. Training dictated she check everything instead of ignoring the mundane, so she uncapped the lipstick.

"Barton," she said.

Her partner came over and took the tube from her. Where the lipstick should have been, there were stuffed several miniaturized hypodermic needles. Three had been used. Two still contained liquid.

"You were saying something about outside help. Looks like someone, a female, got this past the checkpoints, but Grey isn't a mutant. The serum wouldn't work on him, so injecting him with an anti-serum would be unnecessary. They've been planning this for a while, and Grey is working with a coalition of mutants from the inside."

Tasha commented, "Why is he still alive? Why haven't we learned our lesson by now and killed him with extreme prejudice?"

"Because killing a man who's already in custody…"

She interrupted, "You've been spending too much time with Captain America."

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked.

"Sometimes," she responded. "When his convictions run contrary to what would be the safest and most logical course of action regarding Christian Grey."

"I wouldn't let Director Fury hear you talking like that."

She shook her head, a surge of emotion tightening her chest. "The director isn't very happy with me anyway. After that whole mess where I let a shipment of AIM weapons slip through my fingers last week, he's probably looking for a reason to ground me."

Further conversation was forestalled when Guardsman Marcus, gears in his armor whirring at a frequency remarkably similar to Tony's tech, clomped his way into the room. A triangular symbol on each shoulder of his suit indicated he was Vault personnel, and the orange stripes beneath said symbols marked him as a commander. But his tech was distinctly similar to Stark's designs.

"You got something for us, Marcus?" Clint asked.

"We've completed roll call and have finally compiled the complete list of missing persons. Six were unaccounted for, but Rogue has already apprehended two and returned them to the facility. Four are still missing. Debra Reynolds, Max Giamati, Christian Grey, and Neville Saunders."

A very even and controlled breath sucked into her lungs and then rushed out, but that did little to release the rising steam boiling away between her ears. Christian Grey was like a bad rash that wouldn't go away despite repeated applications of an anti-fungal ointment. He was jock itch. And athlete's foot. He was an infected bedsore in the crease of Blob's fat rolls that had since gone septic and was now crawling with maggots.

"How long have they been missing?"

"Two hours. Here is a list of all visitors logged into the system at the time of the breakout." Marcus tapped a tablet against the side of Tasha's phone to transfer the file.

She scrolled down the list. Twelve visitors had been present, but one name caught her interest. Nudging Barton in the ribs, she tilted her phone in his direction to allow him to read the highlighted name.

"Anastasia Steele," Barton intoned softly.

Extensive background checks on Christian Grey and the people closest to him had been compiled months ago, and Anastasia Steele had been a primary point of interest during the work up. The pair had been engaged last year after a torrid affair lasting two months. A week before their wedding, the couple had split for unknown reasons. Since then, Miss Steele ad been living a quiet life in New Hampshire working as an editor for a small regional magazine. There had been no indication of continued contact between the pair, but Grey's estate had been picking up the tab for Miss Steele's graduate classes.

They'd always assumed Steele had simply gotten fed up with Christian's controlling behavior. Most reasonably sane women would have done the same in Steele's situation, but clearly ties hadn't been cut as cleanly as one would assume. After all, she'd continued to accept Grey's financial endowments. Certain markers about the whole thing raised red flags. Christian had done it once before with a woman known only as Leila.

"Hundred bucks and a jar of Russian caviar says she was in on it," Barton said moments later. "Some things can be chalked up to coincidence, but her showing up here on the night of a prison break that leads to Grey's escape from the Vault? That's too much of a leap."

She heard nothing after his mention of Russian caviar. Merely invoking the name caused her stomach to gurgle and gave rise to a massive craving. "You have a jar of Russian caviar?"

"Shit, you're going to sniff it out now, aren't you? I'm going to walk into the apartment some night, and you'll be sitting in the middle of the floor with your face covered in caviar and still clutching the empty jar in your hand like some pregnant broad with a monster craving."

She flinched visibly.

Dread immediately roosted on Barton's expression, tension pulling his body tight as though he expected her to break his nose. "Not that you look like a pregnant broad." Another quick pause. "Or would be anything less than stunning were you a pregnant broad." He seemed to rethink that and continued, "Or would ever be so uncouth as to eat caviar without a spoon."

The core of her body fluttered and her knees were weak, but then he passed it off as though she'd been insulted by the insinuation she was fat, and that allowed her to redirect her brain away from the possible Barton Spawn in her uterus. Barton Spawn. The kid would probably come out with a bow in its hand.

Desperate to turn the conversation somewhere safer, she asked Marcus, "Are you wearing Stark Industries?"

"No," Marcus returned a little too quickly. "No, of course not. A company out of France designed and built the armor specifically for our unit."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She didn't believe him, not for a second. The configuration of plating, the joints, even the way the gears sounded as the suit moved was just too close a match to Stark's designs to be wholly coincidental which meant it was an outright copy. She knew someone in Avengers Tower who would be interested to know how his tech was being used. After Grey was back in custody.

"We should begin the search then," Clint was saying. "The longer we dally, the colder his trail becomes."

* * *

A/N: I've been doing a lot of research into portraying a southern dialect in written form, so hopefully a taste of Rogue's accent is coming through. Gambit's will be much more difficult. As always, thank you for reading and all comments are appreciated.

Next Chapter: Rogue spearheads the search for Christian and is super sorry about it when she eventually finds him.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty Two

Panic tightened Rogue's chest and caused her to take a hasty step backward when a guard she'd been having a cheery conversation with overstepped the boundaries of polite conversation and reached toward her face. In hindsight, the guard had probably intended something as harmless as helping her by pulling strands of hair away from her face that had become stuck in her lip gloss. Hindsight didn't prevent her from pulling away as though slapped.

Gone was her charming smile. In its place, was something more forbidding and intimidating, an unconscious straightening of her posture to prevent the guard from feeling comfortable enough to attempt such liberties again. Didn't he know she could kill him if their bare skin came in contact? Didn't he know she was exhausted from the constant vigil to ensure no one came in contact with her skin?

Ms Marvel's grim visage taunted her from the depths of her mind, one fist striking the invisible partition Mister Charles had put in place to allow Rogue to function as a separate entity. Despite the divide, Carol was always there, always testing the boundaries, always attempting to sway the balance into her own favor and exact retribution for what Rogue considered to be her greatest sin. Why couldn't Ms Marvel feel how sorry she was?

Thankfully, the timely arrival of Agents Barton and Romanoff served as suitable distraction to prevent her from falling into the depths of the chaos that existed in her subconscious where dozens of memories that didn't belong to her swam. She offered a forced smile to the crestfallen guard before jogging over to intercept the two agents.

"The nearest roads and pathways are clear. I already apprehended two escaped inmates, but the others ain't nowhere to be found on the open roads. Locating them will be more difficult. We got anything resembling a plan yet?"

Agent Barton said, "Sort of. First, we need you outfitted with an Avengers issue com unit. We located evidence indicating a suspect named Anastasia Steele smuggled anti-serum into the prison. The escapees are now in full control of their mutations. One mutant, Max Giamati, possesses the ability to accelerate movement."

"Which means they've been able to travel farther than we anticipated," Rogue responded. Again, Agent Barton kept his eyes glued to her face. There was something strangely soothing about his vibes, about the calm efficiency of his movements.

"Correct. Look, we've got one shot at this. Giamati won't be able to take the entire group as far as he could take an individual without resting. They're likely hiding out in the Colorado Springs National Forest somewhere allowing him to rest. Once he's gathered his strength, they'll move again."

"Like a game of hop-scotch," Rogue said.

"More or less. We take the quinjet in there, the prisoners will hear us coming a mile away. Our approach will spook them and send them into hiding. They won't hear your approach. You're specifically looking for this man."

She accepted the tablet Agent Romanoff offered and scrutinized the prisoner's file. "Christian Grey. Why is that name so familiar?"

"He's a sleazy slime ball who's been targeting women associated with the Avengers Initiative for manipulation and abuse," answered Clint.

"Yeah, but there was something else." Recollection dawned moments later, and she said, "He was in Westchester a couple of months ago wanting to hire Mister Hank to write a code allowing him to bypass Avengers Tower security. Naturally, Mister Hank refused."

"Because Grey wasn't creepy enough to begin with," muttered Agent Romanoff.

"Once you find them, you're not to engage," Agent Barton instructed. "There are three mutants, and Christian Grey was magically enhanced by an Asgardian. Chances of you being able to wrangle all of them are slim. You pinpoint their location, send us the coordinates, and we'll come in with a team of guardsman."

"Disregard that," Agent Romanoff said. "You get a clear shot at Grey, you take it. Grey is the most important target. The others can be tracked down later if necessary."

Mister Clint looked sideways at Agent Romanoff, something unsettled about his body language, but it wasn't Rogue's place to intervene or draw attention to them. Bobby would say "something smells rotten in the state of Denmark."

"Tash," Mister Clint said quietly.

"Grey is our primary point of concern," Agent Romanoff reiterated.

The mutinous moment dissolved seconds later, and Agent Romanoff preceded them up onto the landing platform. Rogue followed her into the waiting quinjet. The X-Men and Avengers were on the same side. They both fought for the protection of humanity and in defense of the free world, but she'd never seen the interior of one of their jets before. The tech wasn't vastly dissimilar from the Blackbird, but the Blackbird was far more advanced.

In short order, Black Widow and Hawkeye rigged her with an ear device and a transmitter she affixed to the collar of her brown bomber jacket. The equipment was initialized and tested to ensure transmissions were going out on the Avengers channel, but Agent Romanoff stopped her before she could take flight from the landing pad.

"A word of caution," Romanoff began. "Grey has a psychological predisposition for being emotionally attached to women who fall in front of him. On a level that borders psychosis. He's already bullied and assaulted several Avengers women. Mind your footing."

A smirk tilted her lips. "I dare him attempt liberties with me, Sugar." That said, she stepped out onto the landing pad and launched herself into the air, pausing once in the wind to glance back at the two agents who came out of the quinjet to watch her leave. "I'll be sending you regular updates so you can chart my coordinates. With any luck, we'll be back in time for Christmas Eve dinner."

She waved to her new colleagues before zipping south, the last known direction the missing prisoners had been spotted heading. The task ahead was difficult. Given the cover of darkness, the dense mountain range, and the thick canopy of trees, finding them seemed a futile endeavor. Spotting them from above would be nigh on impossible, but it was hard to go home and open Christmas presents without even looking.

Over the course of the next few hours, she circled the area extensively and in an ever-widening orbit. They wouldn't have taken the main roads. Their best chance at a successful escape was to stick to the cover of the mountains and the vast wilderness, so that was where Rogue concentrated her efforts. As promised, she charted her flight path by sending regular coordinates back to the occupants of the quinjet.

Pink and orange light was just beginning to paint the eastern horizon when she veered out of a canyon and dove low over a broad stream running down out of the mountains. The escapees would, logically, need a source of water to replenish themselves after their mad dash through the mountains. That was when she had a breakthrough. Movement ahead suddenly caught her attention when a prisoner, dressed in the trademark black prison uniforms, emerged from the tree line. He glanced both ways before crouching to scoop water into his mouth.

She barrel-rolled away from the broad waterway to tuck herself in along the shore and get out of sight. Agent Romanoff's instructions were to concentrate her efforts on taking Grey into custody. Agent Romanoff wasn't her boss.

"Contact," she whispered into her transmitter before glancing down at the GPS function of her watch. She rattled off her current coordinates.

"Do you have a positive sighting of Christian Grey?" asked Agent Romanoff.

"Not yet. Holding back until I can get visual confirmation."

"Grey is your primary target," Agent Romanoff reiterated.

"Yeah, I got that memo last time, Sugar."

She approached on foot, moving silently through the dense trees, until finally pinpointing Grey's location. All four missing prisoners and the civilian were huddled beneath a rock overhang. The last tendrils of smoke from a smoldering fire puffed out when Neville Saunders kicked dirt over the embers. They'd be on the move soon, but she could herd them toward the waterway until the SHIELD agents arrived with backup. Maybe. There was the possibility all four of them would be too much for her.

Then the situation was taken out of her hands. It was pure bad luck when a broken branch unbalanced and crashed to the ground steps from her location, attracting the attention of the escaped inmates. Suddenly, they were bolting for the hills. A steep slope leading up out of the valley was their only escape, and they immediately broke in that direction.

Rogue was hot on their heels. Keeping her footing amidst the tangled vegetation proved more difficult than anticipated, but she laid hands on a woman who matched the description of Debra Reynolds. The woman released a soft shout, and intense heat unexpectedly radiated from Reynolds' skin. Like pus squeezing from an infected blackhead, lava seeped from the woman's pores. There was no avoiding the damage. When fabric came in contact with lava, the result was a foregone conclusion.

Rogue yelped when parts of her gloves were burned away and exposed bare skin. Blisters were already forming. Her palms were red and scalded when Reynolds broke away from her grip and tore off up the hill after the fleeing inmates.

* * *

Christian's eyes blazed with fury when their position was compromised. Grasping Miss Steele's wrist, he bolted from under their temporary shelter and headed up into the hills, practically dragging her behind him. Pulling on Miss Steele's leash had been a calculated risk. He'd attempted to split from her in such a manner that left enough emotional connection to make pulling her back into his web a possibility. Thankfully, she'd chosen to help rather than turning him into the wardens as having elicited assistance in a prison break. And here she was, struggling to keep up with him while he bounded up a severe incline.

His main concern now was staying ahead of SHIELD's emissary. One of his cohorts would be paying dearly for having given their position away after he'd impressed upon them how integral to their escape it was they stay hidden. Another few hours, and they would have rendezvoused with a waiting chopper that would have collected them and taken them into hiding as per the plan.

Alas. Things didn't seem to be going his way anymore. When Ana stumbled and lost her balance, he tossed her over his shoulder despite her shriek of protest. One arm locked around the back of her thighs while the other was used to grip the trunks of young saplings to help propel them up the slope.

"Scatter!" he shouted to the rest of his cohorts. "She can't catch all of us at once." And logic said she would go after the most vulnerable first. Secure those who couldn't run away to bring in as many bodies as possible rather than chasing after the leaders.

His teeth were bared in the dim light of dawn when he turned and slugged Debra, now hot on his heels and prancing up the slope like a mountain goat, right in the face. Blood instantly streamed from the woman's nose. She shouted, stumbled, and rolled back down the hill to serve as bait. All he needed was just a few minutes to top the slope and disappear from sight.

And then Ana shouted a warning.

His head whipped back around in time to see a woman land in front of him. Recoiling away from her set him off balance, and he ended up dropping Miss Steele, who was immediately fighting to maintain her balance on the loose soil and rocks. He reached for her hand in an effort to keep from being separated, but by then, SHIELD's attack dog buried her fist in his face. It was like being hit with a baseball bat. If said baseball bat was being wielded by Arnold Schwarzenegger. The young Arnold from his _Conan the Barbarian_ days.

Black spots danced behind his eyes. Really, he wouldn't have been surprised had cartoon birds chirped while circling his head, but it didn't go that far into the realm of the surreal. He pulled himself back together just as his attacker was grabbing for his arms to restrain him. His body, still magically-enhanced thanks to the Enchantress, strained against her hold.

Something about this newcomer wasn't right. He should have damn near broken her arms struggling to get free, but he only barely succeeded in keeping his own arms from being yanked behind his back. Sweat from his exertions dripped uncomfortably into his eyes, but his opponent didn't even look like she was straining to maintain the balance of power. Only once before had he seen strength like this; the day She-Hulk had flung him around like a rag doll.

They were locked in mortal combat like a pair of bulls when Ana's shriek suddenly cut the tension in the air. He turned to look as Ana lost her grip on the tree she'd been clinging to and immediately rolled farther away from his reach. At the same time, Max clobbered the newcomer in the back of her head, causing her to release her grip.

He seized the momentary advantage, but rather than going after Ana, he surged the rest of the way up the hill and shouted, "Max, let's go!"

"But what about…"

"Just leave them," he interrupted.

A moment of something close to panic widened his eyes when the woman was already recovering, already surging the rest of the way up the hill after him. She was powerful and beautiful, and in many ways, she reminded him of his Natasha. The thought turned his stomach, and he had just a few moments to brace himself for the impact before she hit him.

He'd been diving off the coast of California a few years ago when he'd come in contact with a group of hump back whales. The whales emitted a clicking sound beneath water to aide in their communication, and he'd been right in the path of one of those clicks. It had felt like a Budweiser Clydesdales had kicked him right in the chest. That was how it felt when this woman barreled into him.

There was no way to correct his footing, and they ended up losing their balance and tumbling off the top of the ridge and down the rocky slope. Somewhere between the top and the bottom, one of her exposed palms, came in contact with his cheek, and it was like ten thousand tiny lightning bolts latched onto ten thousand pores on his face, like every nerve ending in his body was being magnetically pulled through his pores and into her palm.

The pain intensified to the point where he hovered on the brink of unconsciousness, and despite every effort to pull himself away from the contact-she had apparently been knocked unconscious during the fall-he simply couldn't. Like someone being electrocuted, his muscles were fixed in an ongoing contraction and refused to obey his brain's commands. So his heart rate barreled out of control. His pupils fixed onto one static point in the distance. He took in a breath. Blackness swallowed him.

* * *

Next Chapter: Natasha has a tense conversation with Fury, and Rogue seeks comfort from Remy.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty Three

This was one call in the history of calls she didn't want to make. Even she could admit her job performance was starting to suffer. Dwelling on the possibility of being pregnant, recalling repressed memories of a past stillborn child, still reeling from the strength of her emotional response to Clint's abduction, her entire lifestyle and personal contacts changing… She wouldn't blame Fury if he kicked her to the curb. She would have kicked an agent to the curb who'd displayed such a significant breach of competency.

Finding Rogue unconscious and Grey and Giamati missing was only the cherry on top of the incompetent sundae. How the events had played out were still unclear. Rogue's gloves had been burned enough for a substantial amount of skin to be exposed. Clearly, she'd come in contact with someone for an extended period of time, as there were still bits of someone else's skin and hair melted to her palms.

Steele had babbled something about their colleague hurting Christian, so it didn't take a huge leap of logic to surmise Rogue had drained Christian rather than Max. The answer would be revealed whenever she returned to consciousness. If she babbled about BDSM contracts, they clearly had a Christian Junior on their hands.

"Romanoff," Fury prompted as though it wasn't the first time he'd called her name.

Tasha jumped a little and then quickly responded, "Rogue's still unconscious. We've already notified the X-Men, and Xavier is sending someone to rendezvous with us at the tower." They were speeding their way across the morning skies in the direction of the Vault.

"And the inmates?" Director Fury asked.

"We have Reynolds and Saunders in custody and will be dropping them off at the Vault for medical treatment. Should we leave Anastasia Steele there pending interrogation and possible charges for assisting in the prison break?"

"Yes, they can deal with her until a formal inquiry can be launched. Grey and Giamati?"

"Missing, Sir. Steele was the only one conscious during the incident, and she's since invoked her fifth amendment. Won't say a damned word aside from accusing Rogue of devilry and hurting her Christian. No doubt, she's protecting Grey from being taken back into custody."

"Still, to have rendered Rogue unconscious for an extended period, the contact must have been prolonged. He can't be in any condition to move about on his own."

A moment of silence tightened the tension threatening to break Tasha into dozens of little pieces. When next she spoke, her voice was gruff. "When are you going to say it, Director?"

"Say what?"

"That I'm being taken off the case and formally reprimanded for screwing up? I'm the one who told Rogue to engage rather than merely pinpointing the target. Because I went against better judgement, Rogue is comatose and two criminals are missing. I just…" She couldn't say what she wanted to say and paused for a heartbeat. "I just knew better, Director."

"This isn't just about you making the wrong call and ordering Rogue to make contact without backup," the director said. "Ever since the Amora Incident, you've made several critical errors in the field, have blown off three medical reviews, and have avoided your psych eval. There's a reason field agents aren't allowed to fraternize."

Panic fluttered her pulse when he mentioned her fraternization with Clint, because the last thing she wanted was to screw up Clint's career along with her own. "This is on me, Sir," she responded. "I take full responsibility."

"What you need is time to address your mental state. When you land in New York, you're being placed on temporary medical suspension until such a time as you can be reviewed by physicians and psychologists."

"I understand."

"This is not a punishment, Agent Romanoff," Director Fury emphasized. "This is concern over your mental health. You've never been flighty before, and Special Agent Hill and myself are concerned about you and your job performance. Someone else will be assigned to assist Agent Barton on the Christian Grey case."

It stung. Even knowing what was coming, it still stung. Someone else was going to assist Agent Barton? They'd been partners for years, and it felt like she was being replaced. A heavy sigh puffed tendrils of red hair away from her face.

Finally, she responded, "Acknowledged. Romanoff out."

Removing her headset, she allowed it to clatter against the top of the console and pressed her knuckles against her lips while gazing out over the terrain. She wanted to scream about eggs and semen and zygotes and how nothing had prepared her for the possibility of her contraception failing and Barton Spawn being the result. She could be pregnant! And she had under two months to decide whether or not she wanted to keep the baby or allow the Black Widow enhancements to terminate the pregnancy.

She was startled when Clint reached over and touched her shoulder. "I'm being placed on medical suspension when we land in New York."

"We knew this was coming," he said in his softer-than-soft voice. "Maybe this is what you need to get your head back in the game."

Wide eyes were turned in his direction, obvious disbelief in her expression that he was defending the director, that he was taking Fury's side. "Thanks for that, Barton. I thought partners stuck up for each other."

"I've always given it to you straight. Always will. The day I start telling you what you want to hear instead of what you need to hear is the day I break my firing hand with a hammer."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Won't be the first time I've done something you don't like. Definitely won't be the last. Come on, Tash. You know the director is justified in ordering a medical and psych review. You know he's only looking out for your welfare. You haven't been yourself lately."

"What do you want me to say, Barton? That you're right? You're right. I haven't been firing on all cylinders for a while."

"Then what's going on in that pretty head of yours? The nausea, the nightmares, the anxiety. I've noticed. Why won't you tell me and let me help you?"

The words were right there on the tip of her tongue. _I might be pregnant_, she said to herself. Clint deserved to know. He needed to know. A decent person would have already told him. Trouble was, she wasn't a decent person.

"It's nothing," she whispered.

His crestfallen expression was impossible to miss. Clint was becoming frustrated with her continued refusal to communicate with him.

Tasha went back to watching the terrain whoosh by beneath them. Those memories from decades ago came back behind her eyelids again. Rose. For the life of her, she couldn't remember who Rose's father had been. Some nameless man she'd taken up with? Someone she'd loved? There was no way to be certain.

Heartbreak accompanying the girl being stillborn was the single strongest emotion she remembered about that time. Despite everything, no matter the inconvenience having a child would have caused for her career, she had wanted Rose. No questions asked. But Rose hadn't survived to take her first breath.

Now another chance at motherhood was poised before her, and the reasons for wanting Possible-Barton-Spawn were much stronger. This was Clint's baby. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and allowed her imagination to wander, to picture hin cradling his son or daughter, to paint images in her mind of him teaching their child how to shoot a bow.

For the first time, the possibility of being pregnant brought a legitimate smile to her face.

* * *

Rogue's mouth was dryer than week-old croutons when unconsciousness peeled back from her brain. Sensations returned slowly. The air was too cool. Beeping from a monitor was too loud. A mattress upon which she rested was too hard. Gauze on her scalded hands was too scratchy and irritated the wounds. Everything seemed too much, too wrong, too unsettled. How dare they place her in an environment unsuitable for her habitation. Didn't they know who she was? Didn't they know what she would do to them for their incompetence?

A jumble of memories rolled around and knocked together instead her psyche like in bowling when the ball thundered down the track and there was that singular moment of chaos as pins clattered against each other. In these new memories, she saw herself as a child, probably no older than five, when a man pressed lit cigarettes into her skin. A woman was nearby and screaming for Parker to leave Chris alone, so Parker unleashed his fury on her instead. By the time he was through, she was a bloody mess on the floor.

Those memories clearly weren't her own, and a jumble of thoughts burst into the forefront of her brain. Her palms had come in contact with Christian's face while their tangle of limbs tumbled down the incline. She'd absorbed him. No, she'd damn near killed him. The only time she'd held on that long, Ms Marvel had become a permanent fixture in her psyche.

She was suddenly hyperventilating. Rogue flew into a seated position on the hospital bed and clawed at her throat to somehow open up her own airway and allow more oxygen into her starved lungs. Ms Marvel was there scratching at the invisible divide, lips peeled back in obvious aggression while she fought to gain control of Rogue's body.

"Ma chére," purred Remy, "ain't no need to panic. Gambit here. He take care of you, but you have to breathe."

Breathing seemed impossible. A hand came centimeters away from cracking Remy in the cheek when she flailed in an attempt to get away from him, not because she wanted to be rid of his presence but because she was too unhinged to protect him from her own mutation. Ms Marvel grinned. Christian came to stand next to her, something maniacal about the way he threw back his head and laughed.

"Remy!" she squeaked.

The mattress gave beneath his weight when he eased onto the side of her bed and dragged her against his chest. His voice, rich and warm in a way that reminded her of those deep fried cheesecake bites he'd bought for her at Mardis Gras last year, was soothing when he used the veil of her hair to buffer contact between their skin. He pressed their cheeks together.

Remy smelled familiar. The scent of licorice tinted his breath and combined with patchouli and a hint of the Cajun spices he used to flavor his cooking. His body was warm, and something desperate opened up in the pit of her stomach and craved skin on skin contact, because surely absorbing just a little bit of him would restore order to her chaotic thoughts.

Turning into him, she allowed their mouths to hover scant millimeters apart. Her fingertips, now covered in the silk gloves he'd given her for Valentine's Day, rested briefly against his cheek. His lips were right there, and something in her own ached with wanting. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. And then the moment was gone, ripped away when Christian chuckled from the depths of her conscience. Something about kinky fuckery and how she should throw Remy over a table and introduce him to the cane.

"Ma chére is safe," he repeated. "Breathe for Gambit." He was still wearing those fingerless leather gloves, so he wasn't totally safe from danger when he curled white tendrils of hair around his finger and then tucked the tendril behind her ear.

Slowly, she calmed her breathing into some semblance of order while gazing at Remy to keep his visage planted securely in the forefront of her mind. His eyes, a red iris inside a black eye, were intense, and there was obvious concern causing his brow to crinkle. She experienced a moment of such devotion and love she wanted to rip her skin off just to make it safe to be close to him. Surely there was a way he could crawl beneath her skin.

"Mon dieu, you scared me by not a-waking right away. You been unconscious for damn near three hour," he said. "Does Chére need water? Mister Bruce, he say you'll be powerful thirsty when you wake."

Sometimes, Remy's accent was so thick even she had a hard time understanding him. The longer she was away from the South, the more incomprehensible he became when he spoke too quickly, so it took a moment to sort out what he'd said. She nodded. "Water would be welcome, Sugar. We're at Avengers Tower?"

"Oui, ma chérie. Dat Agent Romanoff call the mansion and say they bring you here, so Gambit insist on a-coming to make sure you're safe. Mister Bruce offered to stay until you woke, but I told him to go be with his family."

So she was inside the Avengers Tower infirmary and actually was in a hospital bed. That explained why it was so hard. When Gambit brought back a bottle of water and lifted his hand to brush hair back from her face, she jerked away so quickly as to nearly topple over the opposite side of the bed. Really, he should have known better than to attempt to touch her after she'd undergone such a traumatic transference.

"Don't," she whispered, lips tight.

"Och, ma belle." He placed a hand over his heart, his expression becoming pained. "Gambit, he no hurt his chérie. He know better than to make skin on skin contact."

"No, but I'm afraid I'll hurt you," she whispered in a strained voice.

"You wouldn't. What Gambit feel for you is pure and true. True love, they say, conquer all things. I take whatever you dish out and like it just to be close to you."

Her glance flicked toward his face when his words triggered something. Her lips curled into a lascivious smile, and she purred, "So you like it rough, Mister LeBeau? I can do rough. I could bend you over a table and turn your ass pink with my naked palm until you were begging for release."

Gambit sat back. A cinnamon brow popped toward his hairline, and a smile played at the corners of his lips. "All ma chére gotta do is say so, and Gambit be hers to command."

That wasn't how he was supposed to respond. He was supposed to fight her, because half the fun was the chase. Half the fun was slowly stripping someone's autonomy from them, making them utterly dependent upon her for survival. Confusion returned.

"No," she breathed while squeezing her eyes closed briefly. "No, this is all Christian. I absorbed so much of him I can't tell where he ends and I begin."

"You're gonna be fine, Chére. Here, Gambit bring your Christmas present from the mansion." He uncapped the water and pressed it into her hand before turning to retrieve his leather trench from where it was draped over a chair back.

"So you got me a bottle of water for Christmas?" she asked, something of herself back in her voice as it warmed with her teasing.

His expression deadpanned. "Oui. Gambit, he thought there ain't nothing Rogue need more than water, so he have Santa bring a whole case for her." Then he rolled his eyes along with one of his charming smiles and passed over a small box tied up with pretty ribbons.

Calmer than a few moments ago, she grinned and picked at the ribbon, loathe to simply tear it off to be tossed in a trash can and wind up in some city dump. Prying the box open revealed a little butterfly necklace studded with emeralds and citrines.

"Remy, it's beautiful!" she exclaimed. "I don't have your present here, Sugar."

"S'okay, Chére. Gambit wait for his present. I'd wait forever."

The earnestness in the way he gazed at her flooded the pit of her stomach with warmth, and Rogue leaned over to graze their lips together. That scant second of contact was like fireworks, but she wouldn't risk more.

* * *

A/N: Gambit's accent is just so not easy! But I hope I got it somewhere close to an actual Cajun accent. If anyone has any pointers or advice, don't hesitate to let me know. I'm always looking to improve.

Next Chapter: Christmas Eve at Avengers Tower. The Avengers take a brief interlude to celebrate the holiday together.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty Four

Christmas Eve at Avengers tower. The festivities were well under way by the time Team Super Spy, still dressed in their travel-worn uniforms, stepped into the lounge after the lift doors opened. A huge Christmas tree shimmering with countless twinkling lights stood in the real estate between the fire place and the bank of windows allowing an unobstructed view of the New York skyline. A mound of brightly-wrapped packages had been piled beneath the tree. But the Avengers were ignoring the pile of presents for the time being. Instead, they were gathered around a long oak table laden with food.

Despite her mood and the official suspension removing her from active duty, Natasha couldn't help but smile at the remembrance of the Avengers decorating the tree for their first Christmas together. Tony had lost a substantial sum of money to Bucky after having bet Thor would break more ornaments than he placed on the tree. When Thor had heard about the bet, he'd scowled and muttered something about being an Asgardian, not clumsy fool. Tony and Thor hadn't spoken for a week afterwards.

Thankfully, everyone was friends again. Well, almost everyone. There was the black spot at the end of the table whose name began with an L and ended with an I. She felt Clint shudder next to her upon clapping eyes on the god of mischief again.

"My dearest Clint, what a wonderful surprise," Loki intoned upon noticing their arrival. "We feared you wouldn't return in time to partcipate in our celebrations. Missing your presence would have put a damper on the entire evening."

Thor looked vaguely proud.

"After all," continued Loki, "what would I do without having my minio…"

The god of mischief's comment was brought to an abrupt halt when Jane, who was seated next to Loki, stuffed a dinner roll into his mouth and exclaimed. "Oh my God, you have to try the rolls, Loki! I don't know what company makes these, but they're to die for!"

Colder-than-a-northern-fjord blue eyes, full of rancor, turned toward Jane, but Loki had few options to continue his tirade with his mouth crammed so full of bread his cheeks were puffed out on either side. It was either chew and swallow or spit it out onto his own plate, which was no doubt considered uncouth for a prince of Asgard.

Thor no longer looked vaguely proud.

"Hey, Lokster. Remember that can of Spam I sent up to your room for dinner last night? Keep talking and that will be Christmas dinner for you!" Stark said a little too cheerfully.

Tasha leaned in closer so only Clint could hear. "Focus. Don't let him mess with your head, and you know that's all he's trying to do."

She wouldn't force him, but her fingers tangled with his while he made up his mind whether or not to proceed into the lounge or return to the lift. They could have dinner in their apartment if he was too uncomfortable to eat with his nemesis in the same room. Better to retreat momentarily than risk undoing all those hours of needling it had taken to get him to open up about his feelings of helplessness after Loki had brainwashed him, but she desperately wanted him to stick it to the god of mischief by being confident enough to stay.

He finally took in a deep breath, squeezed her fingers, and headed for the table. "Sorry to be so late," he commented to the assembly. "There was a situation that needed our attention."

"Yeah, we were about to send a search party. Figured you were pulling a runner to Vegas for Christmas nuptials to Sandy Claws," Tony said, a fork full of mashed potatoes hovering in front of his mouth.

Pepper scowled and dropped her hand beneath the table. Half a second later, Tony jumped as though pinched.

"Ow! What? She does look like Sandy Claws. If Sandy Claws had red hair. And lily white skin. And a set of tits that would make a go…" He yelped again and jumped enough to bang his knee against the underside of the table.

Bruce snickered and got to his feet to pour a pink fizzy drink into a pair of champagne flutes by the two empty place settings at the table. His hand shook slightly, no doubt from the stress of being in the same room as Loki. "We saved you some turkey, but I'm not sure on the status of the mashed potatoes. Thor might have eaten them all already."

"As long as there's cranberry sauce left. Tasha promised to try it this time."

"I did not," she muttered. There was something insanely sweet about the way Bruce pulled her chair out for her. Seating herself, she accepted the platter of turkey passed in her direction. "And what is your obsession with getting me to try it?"

"It makes you twitch," he responded. "The entire purpose of my existence is to make you twitch." His smile was only slightly strained as he scooped a spoonful of cranberry sauce onto her plate before serving himself.

Given how upset her stomach had been the past few weeks, she was surprised by the sudden bite of hunger making her belly rumble. Everything smelled delicious, so she attacked the pile of turkey on her plate after drizzling a mass quantity of gravy over the meat. A little smile cracked her calm façade upon remembering her first Christmas in the US. Clint and she had never exchanged gifts, but they always made time to have Christmas dinner together, even if it was only via a Skype connection.

They ate in silence for a while. Everyone was more focused on cramming as much food in their mouths as possible than conversation until Loki remarked about Thor's hollow legs, because having hollow legs was the only way he could fit that much food into his body at once. Surprisingly, the Avengers chuckled in response to their nemesis' attempt at humor.

Tasha squinted a little. Was Loki wearing a _My Little Pony_ sticker on his jacket? Someone had drawn four more legs on the horse, but despite her curiosity, she wasn't asking the god of mischief anything.

More laughter brought a pleasant buzz to the air after Bucky told a story about Steve's first taste of beer when Jenny, visiting from California for the holidays, asked, "It's nothing catastrophic, right? Whatever caused you to be late for dinner. Do you need any help cleaning up the situation?"

Clint responded, "Nothing we need to concern ourselves with when there is turkey and cranberry sauce to be consumed. There was trouble at the Vault. Rogue suffered something of an injury, but things are stable for the time being. She's in our infirmary with Gambit."

"I would have invited them to join us for dinner," Bruce said, "but Rogue was still unconscious, and Gambit insisted I should be with my family." There was something subconscious about the way he reached over to touch Jenny's shoulder, like he was reassuring himself she really was there.

Wild horses couldn't drag the information out of Tasha during dinner, so she didn't expand upon Clint's explanation. Besides, the stuffing was so fantastic she couldn't have stopped eating it long enough to explain even had she wanted to.

Naturally, Tony had to stick his foot in it. "Now there is a broad with a set of…" His comment practically slammed into an imaginary wall, and he scooted his chair away from Pepper's. "Can I just pinch myself from now on? Your nails are going to draw blood."

"No," Pepper said in a deadpan voice.

"I'm sleeping on the sofa tonight, aren't I?"

"No. When I make you sleep on the sofa, you sneak down to the lab and tinker. A time out isn't effective when you prefer the time out over the alternative."

"Make him swallow an estrogen pill for every time he says something inappropriate."

Crickets could have chirped in the silence that followed as all eyes turned toward Bruce. A fork clattered against a plate in the dead silence.

"There's maniacal, and then there's cruel. Guess which side of the line that suggestion exists on," Tony said, eyes wobbly and hurt as he looked to Bruce.

Pepper's voice deadpanned again when she said, "He has a hard enough time remembering his legal name. Don't ask him to remember his name has been changed to Antoinette Edwina Stark."

The bubble of silence burst when everyone laughed.

A few moments later, Thor thought to ask, "Why would you even notice another woman's feminine assets when you're betrothed to such a beautiful young…"

"You know, there's enough Spam in the cabinet for you too, Thorsky!" Tony exclaimed.

Jane chuckled. "Everyone with eyes can see Pepper adores you. I don't know where this insecurity stems from with regards to Thor being a temptation to every woman in Avengers Tower. Natasha, are you at all tempted by Thor?"

She arched a red brow. "That isn't a fair question."

"Oh, so you are," Clint responded with a bit of a wobble to his lips so one couldn't be certain if he were on the verge of laughing or crying.

"That's not what I meant."

"Sounded to me like you had to think about it."

"I didn't…" She trailed off into a sigh.

Clint's bottom lip continued to wobble.

Tasha could practically feel the heat of everyone's gazes boring into her, because how dare she mistreat sweet, innocent Clint Barton by accidentally hurting his feelings. He damn well knew she hadn't meant anything, so she was ninety-seven percent certain he was just faking. But then there was that three percent chance…

"_Your mother was an eleven-toed sloth_," she muttered in Russian about no one's mother in particular. "I apologize if I trampled on your fragile feelings, Barton."

He made a sniffling sound behind his napkin.

Those stares from the rest of her teammates were turning mutinous and accusatory.

"_And a six-eared Chihuahua_. I said I was sorry! What more do you want from me?"

"Try some cranberry sauce, and I'll forgive you," he finally said in a wobbly voice.

Tasha rolled her eyes so hard her brain hurt and then scooped up a spoonful of the red, gelatinous stuff. Honestly, it looked disgusting. It had the consistency of half-frozen sauce from a container of Salsbury steak that hadn't completed its microwave cycle yet. She stuffed the spoonful in her mouth and mashed it around with her tongue, lips turning farther down the longer she kept it in her mouth. A hard swallow forced it down her throat.

"God, Barton, what did you just make me eat? You actually like that stuff?"

"Cranberry sauce is good!" he exclaimed.

"Sure, if you want to spackle your walls with it! That is way too tart to be enjoyable." She guzzled the drink Bruce had poured for them only to realize said drink also contained a hint of cranberry flavor. She almost did a spit take.

"Cranberry and sparkling water," Bucky said with a chuckle. "In all fairness, I get where she's coming from. The tartness is unexpected, and the texture leaves much to be desired."

"I'm not particularly a fan either," Jenny said. "Who in their right mind makes gelatinous goop flavored with cranberries and willingly eats it? Were the pilgrims on crack during the first Thanksgiving to serve something like that?"

For once, Steve beat Tony to the history lesson when he said, "Actually, cranberry sauce wouldn't have been served at the first Thanksgiving. You need sugar to make it, and sugar would have been a very rare and precious commodity back then. I don't think the first recipe shows up until the latter half of the seventeenth century."

Tony gave Steve the methodical clap. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Steve Rogers is the Avengers' resident virgin." Seconds later, he yelped and practically came unglued from his chair again, presumably from another Pepper Pinch.

The pleasant drone of conversation continued unabated around Tasha when her thoughts turned inward. Kids were brought into the world under a lot more stressful situations, she supposed. Possible-Barton-Spawn could do much worse than to become the first Avenger Baby. It would have a slew of aunts and uncles willing to go to battle in its defense, and God help the schoolyard bully who tried picking on Possible-Barton-Spawn.

Rhodey, who had somehow managed to wrangle enough leave to come for Christmas dinner, was regaling them with an embarrassing story about Tony pre-Iron Man when she slid a hand under the table and touched her stomach. For the first time, she really felt at home with the people around her. Somewhere along the way, they'd become a family. There were no doubts whatsoever her teammates would go to Hell and back for any kid she brought into the world.

A couple hours later, after everyone had recovered from their turkey comas and had been allowed to open one present from beneath the tree, Tasha finished brushing her teeth and emerged from the bathroom smearing the last of her moisturizer into her skin. She was already dressed for bed in one of Clint's old t-shirts and a pair of cotton panties. Off in the corner, his body illuminated by twinkling lights from the Christmas tree he had insisted they have in their apartment, she watched him replace a faceplate on one of the air conditioning vents.

"Clint, laws of physics dictate you can't possibly escape my clutches by fitting into that vent shaft. It's just not possible," she said, her voice tinged with laughter.

He chuckled. "My name isn't Hank Pym, so you're probably right."

When he got back to his feet, he padded in her direction. A package wrapped up in paper printed with snowmen was clutched in his hand. He was shirtless, his upper body ripped with honed muscles. His complexion was the exact opposite of hers; swarthy with a hint of olive. A pair of pajama pants hugged the points of his hips where the musculature of his abs narrowed into a deep V leading down to his groin. The pajamas looked to be barely defying the laws of gravity, like the slightest provocation would nudge them from his hips.

In short, Clint was sexy as Hell, and Tasha had to remind herself to look him in the eye rather than drooling on his chest. "I thought we had a standing order not to exchange presents," she said. Seconds later, she nibbled at her bottom lip, eyes slipping back below his neck.

"This being our first Christmas together as a couple… since Russia… I wanted to get you something to mark the occasion. It's nothing fancy or expensive." He started to thrust the gift toward her only to stop. "Wait! I have the perfect thing to go with this moment." He played with his phone until the chords of _Jingle Bell Rock_ poured from the speakers, and only then did he offer her the present.

Rather than accepting the gift, she pivoted on her heel and moved to the wall. "I guess that means I should give you this. You know, as a token of my affection." She pulled an impressionist painting of a ballerina away from the wall and unlocked a safe hidden there, returning moments later with a present of her own which was thrust in Clint's direction.

Only then did she tear open the paper-Clint sucked at wrapping, so the paper was a mess of wadded corners and tape stuck in random locations-to find a small knife tucked inside a box. The blade was less than length of her palm. Abstract feathers had been engraved into the hilt and swirled up the handle where the pommel flared into a hawk's head and beak.

"So I can always be close to you even we have to be apart," he whispered.

Warmth welled in her breast, and she blinked rapidly to dry moisture pricking her eyes. "Thank you. But I'd better not wake up with a hawk tattooed on my ass."

He laughed while tearing into the present she'd given him. Inside rested a new wrist and finger guard, essential tools for an archer to avoid the bow string slapping against his wrist or the snap of the string damaging his fingertips. The widow symbol had been craved into the leather on the underside of the guard, the side designed to rest against his skin.

Clint flat out grinned. "Thanks, Tash. I'll work on breaking it in at the target range tomorrow." He stepped closer and wound an arm around her waist to pull her flush against his body. "So did I catch you checking me out a minute ago? Is there Christmas sex in my future?"

"In your dreams," she returned, but hiding the laughter in her tone was impossible.

Their playfulness ended when her mouth made contact with his, when he feathered his fingers through the fine hair at the nape of her neck to pull her in tighter so he could deepen the kiss. His tongue wasn't insistent or hurried. The fingers that traced the edge of her panties, lightly roughing her soft skin with his calluses, were content to take their time.

By the time he backed her up and lowered her to the bed, she was already awash with desire. Need helped her finally encourage his pajamas to give up the fight against gravity. Her fingertips flexed against the tight muscle of his ass. They hadn't had sex since before Amora had abducted him, so every nerve ending in her body was starved for his affection. In short, they had a long night ahead of them.

* * *

Past midnight was technically Christmas, so it was Christmas when Jane found herself sitting alone at the dining room table in the suite she shared with Thor. Ice in the champagne bucket was melting profusely, and the flames burning in cinnamon candles were threatening to be smothered by melted wax when she decided Thor had abandoned her in favor of spending Christmas with Loki.

Thor's relationship with his brother was still strained despite the many improvements Loki had made during his stay at the tower. She desperately wanted Loki to remain a central figure in Thor's life, so it wasn't as though she wanted to replace him as the center of Thor's universe. On the contrary. Being the center of anyone's universe sounded exhausting. But she would be lying if she said being left waiting for so long didn't sting.

Tossing the remnants of a chocolate-covered strawberry into the waste basket, she padded into the bathroom and donned the silk robe hanging on the back of the door, hiding the little red nightgown she'd intended Thor to strip from her. Part of his Christmas present was that she was going to surprise him with tonight being their first night together… in the sexual sense. At least that had been the plan earlier. A knot of emotion clogged her throat. All the anticipation of finally popping their couples virginity and she was alone.

A champagne flute was poised in her fingertips-because she may as well drink it before it became so warm as to no longer be enjoyable-when the front door was unlocked and Thor hurried inside. He cradled a large gray puppy, a red ribbon around its neck, in his arms.

"Forgive my tardiness, Jane. I intended to return some time ago, but Ghost escaped from Loki's apartment. We have spent the past couple of hours chasing him through the tower. My brother finally corralled him outside Anthony and Mistress Pepper's apartment." A smile bloomed on Thor's lips, his eyes lighting up until he thought to add, "I do believe the Starks are engaging in some manner of exertion by the sounds drifting through their door. Perhaps they should be reminded that exertions on this sacred holiday should be forbidden."

She laughed. "It's probably the pleasant kind of exertion. Loki got you a puppy for Christmas? That was sweet of him."

"No, you misunderstand, Dear Heart. Ghost is my gift to you. You spoke not long ago about being disallowed from owning pets growing up, but you are a grown woman now. Bruce retrieved him from the place where abandoned animals are adopted, and Loki hid him in his apartment to avoid you seeing your present before the holiday."

Her dark eyes softened and flooded with moisture. "You remembered me saying that? That's the sweetest thing ever. Although I feel like I say that constantly around you."

"I will endeavor to continue giving you numerous reasons to say such in regards to me," he responded, approaching slowly until Ghost woofed and scrambled to greet Jane.

A warble of sound escaped her throat, and there was no eradicating her grin upon wrapping her arms around the puppy's neck. He looked, at least in part, to be Irish Wolfhound. Regardless, he was probably the most adorable thing on four legs and had the hugest brown eyes she'd ever seen. She laughed again when Ghost attempted to lap at her face.

"Oh Thor, he's precious! We'll be able to take him to Asgard?"

"Yes," responded Thor. "The atmosphere of Asgard will be agreeable to him. You're pleased with your gift? Determining an appropriate gift was difficult. Anthony suggested I give you something called a le petite morte. I was uncertain what that was, but Bruce seemed to think it would be inappropriate."

Jane laughed so hard she sat down on the nearest chair and didn't notice Ghost trying to steal a strawberry from the tray until he almost had it in his mouth. She pushed said tray farther onto the table despite the puppy's protests. Chocolate was bad for puppies!

Only then could she respond to Thor's comment. "It's French for 'the little death.' That's slang for an orgasm."

His cheeks colored, and his eyes drifted down from her face, not that the journey would result in anything more titillating than seeing Ghost clutched against her chest. "Bruce is right. Such would be an inappropriate Christmas gift."

"No," she whispered, her pulse increasing dramatically. "No, Thor, it wouldn't be inappropriate tonight."

"Does that mean you would like for me to give you a miniature fatality?"

Her lips twitched again, and she settled Ghost on the floor to begin nosing around his environment. "Little death," she reminded him. Rising, she tugged the knot free that held her robe closed. The garment slithered open to reveal the little red nightie that was barely more than a few scrapes of silk and lace sewn together.

His adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, gaze dipping below her neck. "Would you like for me to give you a little death?"

"Your physical present is taped somewhere on my body against my skin. If you want your gift, you'll have to come and find it."

"Such would be my pleasure, Dear Heart."

And then there were explodey, sparkly things in Jane's present accompanied by a chorus of Hallelujah's trumpeting from the throats of ten thousand angels in lingerie. Thor eventually found his present taped against her ribcage but was more intent in learning the texture of her skin with teeth and tongue than opening his present. It was a little pendant shaped like the Hubble telescope suspended from a robust chain, because there was absolutely nothing delicate about Thor. Except maybe his tongue when he pressed it against her most feminine areas.

Her "little death" reminded her of KY His and Hers commercials. Or maybe the Trojan Twister commercials. She couldn't think properly enough to figure out which best described the results of his determined pursuit.

* * *

A/N: I really thought the Avengers needed a nice bonding experience after all the mayhem of this story. What better way to bond than over Christmas?

Next Chapter: Christmas continues with the Starks, Bruce and Jenny, and Team Bachelor.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty Five

Pepper came. Her breath was held, head thrown back while straining through the split second of abject ecstasy. Black spots and bright flashes of color painted the inside of her eyelids, and a keening sound caught in her throat. But her ministrations continued at a fervid pace until her lover found his own release. Only then did she collapse against his chest to enjoy the afterglow of their lovemaking.

"Must have been one Hell of an or…"

Soft laughter interrupted his comment, and she responded, "I had twelve percent of an orgasm."

A chuckle rumbled in Tony's chest. He arms closed around her to keep her snuggled there when she otherwise might have moved. "Can it be Christmas every day?"

"But then you'd become desensitized to Christmas. Eventually, you'd get sick of fifteen hundred calorie turkey dinners, tinsel, and presents wrapped in garish paper. Please tell me you remembered to return that ugly sweater you got for Steve."

He stiffened. "Maybe?"

"Tony…"

"But it has a stick of butter silk-screened on it, and he's always wailing about how modern butter can't compare to butter made back in the thirties and forties. You can't get any more perfect than a sweater with butter on it."

"You can't…" She paused mid-sentence and then shook her head. "You know what? Give him whatever present you feel is fitting. If you gave him something nice, he'd realize I badgered you into it, and the important thing is the time you put into selecting a present."

"Oh ye of little faith. You shall see the brilliance of my gift-selecting capabilities in the morning when we raid that pile under the tree. Speaking of. Lights, Jarvis."

Lights brightened, illuminating their bedroom and the rumpled bed linens that had been haphazardly kicked on the floor. A trail of clothes was strewn from the entrance foyer of their apartment where they'd engaged in a hasty quickie to the bedroom where they'd taken the opportunity to really enjoy one another. Good thing no one had been out in the hall earlier. They might have embarrassed themselves with all the giggling and moaning they'd gotten up to.

"Get up, Peps," Tony said. "We have to actually move so I can give you your present."

"Wait. Let me make sure I understand you correctly. We're here. In bed. Naked. Enjoying the afterglow of amazing sex, and you want me to move. This present is better than that massive stuffed rabbit you tried to give me last year, right?"

Pepper rolled off the bed and then strolled after him into his dressing room. There really was no masking the contents of the cheery wrapping paper printed with tiny reindeer pulling Santa's sleigh. The rectangular, flattened shape of the object inside was unmistakable, but she was still thrilled when she tore open the gift to find a painting. Being an art enthusiast, she immediately spotted telltale clues as to the painter.

"Tony, this is a Paul Cezanne," she whispered.

"Is that impressive?" he asked.

"Are you kidding me? _The Card Players_ holds the record for being the most valuable painting ever sold!" she exclaimed. "His paintings are displayed in the most well-respected museums throughout the world!" She paused suddenly and really looked at him. "You're messing with me, aren't you? Of course you are. Larry would have explained how rare an opportunity owning a Cezanne is."

He smirked and leaned against the door jam casually. "But you can totally carry on like a chocolate aficionado being given the deed to Godiva. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You know, in my defense, though, rabbits are soft and cuddly. At the time, I thought to myself 'what could possibly be better than a two story soft, cuddly thing."

Grinning, she caressed the wooden frame before rising to embrace her fiancé. "Thank you, Tony. I love my present, and I loved the thought put into last year's present, just not the actuality of it."

"But it was modern art!"

"So when you break your super rare, custom ordered ratchet wrench, I can totally buy you a picture of the same tool to replace it, because it's modern art, right?"

"No," he responded. "Because I'm not into art the way you are. Sure, I like buying art. I like owning art. I like how art appreciates in value, but you're the one who's cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Or for Paul Cezanne in this case." There was something expectant about his gaze when he folded his arms across his chest. A full minute passed, in fact. "Well, Woman, what are you waiting for? Cough up the goods!"

"What goods?" She managed to furrow her brow into something akin to confusion.

"My present, and I don't want twelve percent of a present. I'd prefer the whole thing."

She had basically given herself an aneurysm trying to think of something special to get for him this year. Shopping for a man who had everything was decidedly difficult. Ever since the Obie fiasco wherein her mounting of his original miniaturized reactor had saved hisr life, getting him unique gifts had become something of an obsession. So she'd thought long and hard about what could be an appropriate gift this Christmas.

Lacing their fingers together, she pulled him from the dressing room and stopped by her nightstand. A small, oblong box was retrieved from inside and passed over. Red and green ribbons tied the box closed.

The ribbons were hastily discarded on the floor in his haste to reach the goods inside. Various emotions played out on his face while inspecting the watch lying on a bed of cotton. Naturally, it wasn't just any watch. The band had been created by linking together non-symmetrical bits of metal salvaged from the tower after the Chitauri building. One little link still had art of a serial number etched along the side from the stainless steel range hood. Another link had been made of part of the enamel around the fireplace. She'd spent hours selecting the right kind of tile and color for that damned fireplace only to have it destroyed a month after completion.

A message had been engraved on the back casing of the watching mechanics. _"Proof of the day Tony Stark learned to be selfless."_

Tony dashed his thumb under his eyes. Then he smiled and blew out a shallow breath. "I fucking love you, Woman."

"I love you too."

* * *

Bing Crosby was crooning out the strains of _White Christmas_ when Jenny flopped onto Bruce's lap. Her cousin's tan sofa groaned under her She-Hulk-sized weight. A giggle bubbled into being when Bruce yelped in surprise by the sudden glomping, and he wasn't able to move his science journal fast enough to save it from being crumpled under her ass.

"It's technically Christmas," she said. "You're not allowed to look at anything science related until the day after Christmas."

"That's cruel and unusual punishment," he responded.

"Don't care. We get to spend so little time together, so from now until tomorrow night- technically, I guess you could say 'tonight'- you have to pay attention to me rather than your whatsits. And haven't you heard of a tablet? So much easier than paper magazines." She deposited a brief kiss on his cheek.

Bruce dislodged the journal from beneath her butt and carefully folded it in an attempt to smooth out the creases before tossing it on the coffee table. "There's something calming about old fashioned magazines. Okay, you have my undivided attention. How are things going on California?"

"Swimmingly. The partners of my new firm are eager to integrate some of my ideas in the practice. Everyone is much more accepting of me when I'm in my She-Hulk form, and the West Coast Avengers are off to a smashing start. How are you adjusting to Loki?"

"He's a constant source of annoyance, but we owe it to Thor to at least attempt understanding how his bag-of-cats-crazy brother thinks. At any rate, they'll be leaving for Asgard after New Year. I can deal until then."

Jenny pulled a little packet of Santa wrapping paper from her pocket. "Merry Christmas."

"You didn't have to get me anything. You know how I feel about Christmas."

"I know, I know. Christmas is commercialized madness, a Christian holiday melded with a pagan holiday melded with capitalism until it's so nausea-inducing it should be obliterated from our collective conscience."

His expression deadpanned. "Don't get carried away, Jenny. I only said it was a capitalistic holiday founded on religious insanity. But thank you for the gift."

True story, Jenny sucked at wrapping. She just didn't have the patience, so her gift wasn't meticulously placed inside a box and then wrapped up with pretty paper and bows. The hastily folded wrapping paper packet contained a couple of ziploc bags full of seeds. On little pieces of cardboard, she'd jotted down "cardamom' and "black anise," because Bruce was constantly complaining about not finding the good kinds of spice outside of India, and he was super into cooking his own Indian dishes lately.

He smiled and hugged her shoulders. "This is perfect. Now let's see if I have any kind of a green thumb. With any luck, they won't wither before I get one harvest out of them." Then Bruce wiggled around to reach under the sofa where he produced a present for Jenny.

Her present turned out to be a green cashmere turtleneck she buried her face in and hugged against her chest. An appropriate gift, considering She-Hulk had decimated her collection of turtlenecks and sweaters in favor of more revealing garments. Hopefully this one stuck around because Bruce had given it to her. She-Hulk was inordinately fond of Bruce. Plus the sweater was green.

* * *

Bucky swiped his fingers across the surface of the e-reader that was his Christmas present from Steve. Lights were dim, allowing the glow from the nine foot tree to cast a pleasant atmosphere inside the lounge where Steve, Bucky, and Loki had gathered. Outside, the whisper-quiet fall of fat flakes of snow intensified. A rare Christmas snowstorm was in the works.

Being the resident bachelors, hanging out in the lounge together rather than spending the night in their separate apartments had only made sense. He'd arrived first to read a few chapters of one of the numerous Star Wars books already loaded onto the e-reader. Steve had wandered down not long after to help himself to the carafe of egg nog in the fridge, but they'd both been surprised by the god of mischief slinking into the lounge to sprawl on the second sofa.

"Stop staring at me," Bucky said without lifting his glance.

Whatever tune-he assumed it was Asgardian in origin-the god of mischief was humming paused long enough for Loki to grumble, "Make me."

"Fine," he fired back. Producing a present from under the sofa, he tossed it in the Asgardian's direction. "Don't say I never gave you nothing." What had possessed him to buy a present for their nemesis? Having spent time on the wrong side of the law himself, he maybe… possibly… by the tiniest of margins… felt a miniscule kinship with Loki.

A dark brow popped up when Loki caught the present out of mid-air. He swung himself into a seated position and stared down at the gift blankly. Stunning the god of mischief speechless was an accomplishment worth crowing about, as it was clear Loki was uncertain how to react to being given a Christmas present. "For me?"

"Wait! I mistook you for Steve, because Steve and you totally look so similar I thought you were him and he was you. Give it back."

The Asgardian's response was immediate. "No." And his hands possibly tightened ever-so-slightly around the gift.

For fuck's sake, he hadn't anticipated Loki having a very real emotional reaction to being given a Christmas present. That tiny seed of empathy wormed its way deeper in the soil of his gut, producing a strained expression. The Asgardian wasn't used to receiving presents. That was sad as fuck.

Leaving Loki to sort out his emotions, Bucky retrieved a second present from beneath the sofa and passed it over to Steve. "Guess I'd better give you this then."

"Thanks, Bucky." Steve's gaze lingered on Loki momentarily before he peeled open the corners of his present rather than simply tearing the paper open. He unfurled a powder blue sweater that had been rolled up inside the paper. A stick of butter was silk-screened across the front. The captain chuckled. "Because butter is one of the things I definitely miss from our original time period. Where in the world did you find this?"

"Target. They had a whole display in a rainbow of colors. Saw it, instantly thought of you, and knew you had to have it for Christmas."

Bucky's glance then returned to Loki in time to see the Asgardian wiping a genuine smile from his face-there was something distinctly startling about seeing a genuine smile on the god of mischief-before opening his present. A plastic horse produced by Breyer was contained therein.

"So what is it with you and horses?" Steve asked.

The Asgardian's reluctance to immediately answer the question was also startling. He opened his mouth, closed it, and traced his fingers over the bold blue lettering on the yellow box. Finally, he whispered, "One of my sons is an eight-legged horse." Something sentimental melted the aloof look that seemed ever-present when it came to Loki.

"I'm sorry, did you say…"

Loki interrupted Bucky's statement to respond, "Yes, I have a son. I am a master of magic. Shapeshifting is an old trick and allowed me to take the form of a mare, at which point, I produced an eight-legged offspring whom I named Sleipnir."

Stunned silence.

Steve was first to break said silence when he said, "What you do with your body is entirely your own business, and no one should judge you for your decisions."

Surprise registered on the Asgardian's face, and then he inclined his head. The man's fingers hooked slightly, middle finger and ring finger swirling in small circles to produce a green aura. The aura coalesced into a pair of small presents wrapped up in bright green paper. One appeared on Bucky's lap. The other on Steve's.

Bucky shrugged and opened up his present to find a little silver egg.

"When we are next on the opposite side of the battlefield, as will inevitably happen given my changing moods, throw one of those at my feet, and you will have a momentary reprieve. Spells of transporting are contained therein. It will take no small feat of strength and ingenuity for me to return from Niffeilheim to continue my pursuit."

It was their turn to look stunned, and Bucky inclined his head. "Thank you. It may surprise you to hear this, but I hope we don't have to meet on the field of combat."

Steve also said, "Thanks. We'll use them wisely." It was at that point Steve discovered a small packet taped to the inside of the sweater's collar. His brow furrowed, and he carefully unwrapped the paper to find part of an old handkerchief embroidered with small red flowers and sandwiched in between two pieces of plexiglass to preserve it from being exposed to the air.

Bucky knew the item was immediately recognized when Steve turned luminous eyes in his direction, eyes that glistened with moisture under the multi-colored lights. The handkerchief had belonged to Peggy.

* * *

A/N: And that concludes Christmas at Avengers Tower. I was going to not bother writing the Cap/Bucky/Loki scene, but that wouldn't have been fair to them. They deserve Christmas too.

Next Chapter: Bruce gives Tasha a blood test. Pepper sees something wildly unexpected on her way to take Bruce to lunch.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty Six

Natasha managed a certain amount of detachment while watching Bruce place a cotton ball over the injection site before removing the syringe and pressing said cotton more firmly against her arm to stem any blood that seeped out. Setting the syringe aside, he taped the cotton in place and then released the tourniquet.

"Agent Barton will understand," he emphasized.

"I'm not so certain," she responded. "This isn't the type of news you want to hear the day after Christmas when you're an assassin who's used to living your life in the shadows."

"Having Clint's child can't be number one on your worst case scenario list."

"No, I'm pretty sure its up there near the top. You don't understand, Bruce." She wasn't certain how to finish or how to make him understand. "You know what it's like to have people hunt you. When it's just me, I can take care of myself. Having a kid to protect too?"

"But you aren't alone anymore. There are people who care about you and who will go to Hell and back to protect your child."

"Let's just get it over with. The sooner I know, the sooner I can start making a decision."

Finally facing the moment, that No-Turning-Back line drawn in the sand, she was more nervous than ever. Her palms were clammy, so she chafed them over her jeans and watched Bruce pad across the infirmary to run the necessary tests. Just thinking about how her life would change was enough to induce nausea.

So she attempted to divert her mind onto a safer topic. A methodical breath helped restore some semblance of order. For the moment, she didn't feel like a three-legged rabbit being hunted by a pack of wolves. "Did you get a chance to analyze the samples we brought back?"

"You're on temporary suspension by order of Director Fury. You know I'm not supposed to share information with you regarding an active investigation."

"Bruce, you can tell me. I won't use the information to work the case behind everyone's back. This is just to satisfy my curiosity and to keep my mind off that blood test."

Doctor Banner looked dubious.

"I promise!"

Finally relenting, he collected a tablet computer. "I finished processing the samples before you came in. Sample A appears to target markers in mutant genetics. Doctor Andrews, a preeminent physician currently working with the X-Men organization, has concluded research that indicates mutants possess an extra pair of bases within their DNA."

"Speak English, Bruce."

"DNA contains four basic building blocks called nucleobases. They are adenine, guanine, thymine, and cytosine. These form pairs that make up the basic foundation of every human's DNA. In mutants, Doctor Andrews has found evidence of an extra pair of bases which unlocks their supernatural powers. The science is still in its infancy of course."

"Okay, I'm with you so far. Go on."

"Sample A appears to deactivate that extra pair of bases, rendering the mutant human. I've yet to determine if the process is permanent or wears off after a particular amount of time. Sample B came from the lipstick container. It's an antidote that reverses the chemical process of the mutation inhibitor."

"How would one make an antidote to the serum? Could Christian have created it?"

"Highly unlikely," Bruce responded. "You'd need a sample of the serum to break down to its individual chemical levels. Christian wouldn't have had access to the serum for study."

"Then who could have created it?"

"Impossible to determine. Someone who smuggled samples out of the facility, for sure."

"Then Christian has a man on the inside," she declared, "someone who helped him smuggle serum out and arranged for Anastasia Steele to deliver the antidote during visitation hours."

"When you've ruled out all other possibilities, whatever is left, regardless of how absurd it sounds, must be the truth."

"I need to tell Clint. Clint and Rogue are going to interrogate Steele tomorrow. He'll need to know this information…"

Bruce interrupted by saying, "Medical suspension, remember. You're not even supposed to know. Besides, I've already emailed a copy of the report to Clint's inbox."

Natasha blew out another breath and nodded, eyes darting toward the machine Bruce had plugged her blood sample into. Sleeping last night had been impossible. She'd tossed and turned and had eventually left the apartment to spend the remainder of the night bundled in a blanket on the lounge floor balcony rather than disturbing Clint's rest. Howie Mandel's voice kept ping-ponging through her brain. _"Deal or no deal."_ Pregnant or not pregnant.

Tasha clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the shaky breath and accompanying whimper of anxiety when the uncertainty and terror flooded back into her conscious thoughts. So much for distracting herself for any length of time. She'd never felt this way in her life. Being knocked off kilter was single-handedly her worst nightmare. If she were pregnant, she had nine months of being unable to control her hormonal outbursts to look forward to.

"Natasha," Bruce began in his calmest voice, "if you don't calm down, you're going to hyperventilate. If you hyperventilate, I'll have to put you on oxygen. If I put you on oxygen, Miss Potts is going to be super concerned when she stops by to take me to lunch."

Startled by his sudden proximity, she almost clobbered him right in the nose. When had he gotten right there in her face? And why hadn't she noticed his approach? Because she was so unhinged her normal senses were failing her. Drawing in methodical breaths barely helped keep the pent up anxiety contained.

"I can't do this, Bruce. Oh God, I can't do this."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" she asked, something in her tone completely wild. "Bruce, we're talking about a kid. What the Hell am I going to teach a kid? How to use her big, innocent, kid eyes to manipulate her dad into…"

Those words punched her right in the gut. _"Her dad."_ Clint would be a dad. She had the power to make Clint a dad if those test results came back positive. Tasha totally lost it. She pressed her face in her hands and wept like she hadn't wept in decades.

Feeling Bruce's hand on her back and then slowly being pulled into the comfort of a friendly embrace only made her cry harder. She practically stuffed her hand in her mouth in an effort to muffle her whimpers, because by God, Natasha Romanoff didn't whimper like a distressed five year old!

Through it all, Bruce didn't rush her. He didn't make any Starkisms about the mighty Agent Romanoff coming unglued. Neither did he encourage her tears by whispering sweet nothings in her ear. He was just there. His warm touch kept her grounded. Occasionally, the stubble on his cheeks scratched against her temple and allowed her a moment of sensation to focus on besides the terror ripping her insides apart.

And then a sudden chime from his computer violently dislodged her from her place of misery. Her eyes were deer-in-headlights-wide when she jerked her face from his warm shoulder. She swallowed heavily and rubbed her palms over her thighs again.

"Your test results are ready, Doctor Banner," Jarvis said in an even tone.

Bruce padded over to his screen.

"Just get it over with," she instructed. "Rip it off like a Band-aide."

Alas, her misery was prolonged when Doctor Banner retrieved his glasses from the counter, unfolded them, and slowly slid them into place. She wanted to shout at him to hurry the Hell up, because waiting those extra thirty seconds felt like she was being pulled too thin like over-stretched silly putty.

"Bruce!" she cried plaintively.

He went about removing his glasses and turned to face her before saying, "Positive."

Once. Just once in her entire life, Tasha fell back in a dead faint.

* * *

Having the opportunity to take a friend to lunch the day after Christmas when the business world was attempting to grind its gears back into motion wasn't always a guarantee, so Pepper was delighted when her two o'clock cancelled. Enough free time had been cleared from her schedule to eat outside her office. She was looking forward to taking Bruce, whose time was usually monopolized by Tony, to the grand opening of a new bistro a few blocks over when she stepped into the infirmary.

Panic shot a jolt straight through her heart upon finding Tasha flat out on a bed and Bruce using a thick stack of papers to furiously fan her. The man looked like he'd just spotted a freight train barreling in his direction while his car was stalled on the tracks.

"Oh my God, what happened?" she exclaimed. Her taupe D & G pumps clacked against the slate floor as she hurried over to help him maneuver Tasha higher so the woman's legs weren't dangling uncomfortably off the end of the bed.

"I can't say. Doctor patient privilege."

"Is she sick? Should I get Clint up here, because you have something terrible to tell him? You can't just say things like that and not expect us to think the worst!"

"I can't say," he repeated, emphatically. "Doctor patient privilege."

She narrowed her eyes at him shrewdly, glossy lips tightening a fraction. "You don't have a legitimate medical license, Bruce Banner. You're a geneticist, a biologist, and a chemist, but you're not a board certified physician."

"But I'm still acting in the capacity of Agent Romanoff's physician at present, and it's unfair of you to ask me to break privilege and discuss her medical history with you."

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right, and she had the good manners to look ashamed of herself for having pressured him to talk about Tasha's condition. "Is she going to be all right? You can tell me that at least."

"Yes, she'll be fine. It was momentary shock."

Thankfully, Agent Romanoff was beginning to come around by that point. The other woman groaned softly and fluttered her eyes behind her lids.

Clarity suddenly focused a single thought into being. "She's pregnant, isn't she."

"I can neither confirm nor deny your assumption, Miss Potts," Bruce responded.

"Oh my God, she is!"

"I didn't say anything."

"She's been so nauseated and flighty lately, and what other news could make her faint like that?" The more she thought about it, the more she was certain her assumption was correct. Tasha was pregnant with Clint's baby, and despite Pepper's four inch heels, she wanted to jump in the air and kick her feet together.

The expectant mother's eyes finally parted. She blinked a moment against the fluorescent lights beating down from overhead, and Tasha croaked, "Pepper, what are you doing here?"

"I was going to take Bruce to lunch, but given your exciting news, I think it's more appropriate we have a celebratory meal with the entire Avengers team. The first Avengers baby is definitely something to celebrate."

Tasha's eyes were positively accusatory when she glanced in Bruce's direction.

"I didn't say anything!" he exclaimed.

"Bruce didn't tell me. He, quite rightly so, championed doctor patient privilege, but the signs were all there for anyone to put together. It's not as though having a yeast infection would cause you to faint from shock."

The other woman shuddered at the mention of a yeast infection. "Look, you can't tell anyone. Clint has no idea yet, and when I break it to him, it has to be on my terms."

Pepper mimed zipping her lips. "Whatever the expectant mother wants."

"And stop calling me that. You'll get in the habit and end up blurting it out."

Her expression became slightly crestfallen at Tasha's insinuation she couldn't keep a secret. "I've worked with Tony Stark for almost a decade. It hurts me to think you believe I can't be discreet enough to avoid blabbing."

"Point," Tasha responded. "I haven't even decided what to do yet, whether or not keeping the baby is the right thing for everyone. I need time to get used to the idea, time to figure out what's best."

"You can't wait too long," Bruce said. "Because of the Black Widow enhancements. I'll need time to prepare the appropriate serums, and Tony would be a vast wealth of information and help in doing so. We'll have to find a way to shut down your enhancements temporarily in order to protect the pregnancy."

"Fuck, it's like I have this massive ticking clock chirping away behind my head."

"What are you talking about?" Pepper didn't like being out the loop. She had a tendency to know everything that went on inside Avengers Tower thanks to Jarvis.

Bruce's summary of just what Natasha was facing and the inevitable results should she wait too long in deciding if she wanted to keep the baby were entirely alarming. Pepper reached over and took hold of Tasha's hand, because that was all she could do. Having one's entire life revolve around the KGB was one thing. Having one's reproductive capabilities also controlled by them was a whole different level of invasion.

"Sweetie, whatever you decide, I'm here for you," she said in an effort to reassure Tasha. "If you want this baby, then I'll help you in every way I possibly can, but if you decide having a baby is too much for you, I'll support your reproductive rights from here to Hell and back."

"Yeah, but will you raise the kid for me," the other woman muttered.

Her response was immediate. "Tony and I would need to discuss it first, but I wouldn't rule out the possibility. If we kept you from the public eye for the duration of your pregnancy and outfitted me with a growing baby bump, the world would know this child as a Stark. Behind the scenes, you and Clint would interact with the baby as though she were a Barton."

Stunned silence.

Agent Romanoff had this thing where she sucked her cheeks in slightly while attempting to gain control of her emotions. That look was going on when the woman responded, "You would do that for me?"

"We're friends. Were it necessary to walk on water to make you feel secure in your child's future, I would find a way, but you have to tell Clint." When her friend looked reticent, Pepper pushed harder. "You_ have_ to tell Clint before deciding anything. This is nonnegotiable. Clint has a right to know and help you make this decision."

A moment of silence passed before Tasha responded, "Fine. I won't decide anything until I've talked to him, but promise me you won't say anything to anyone until I've told him. Not even Tony. Especially not Tony."

Pepper gripped the other woman's forearm. "This isn't my first rodeo. Believe it or not, I know how to keep my mouth shut and who not to blab things to when they're meant to be a secret. I'd just like to point out that Tony isn't as much of a motor mouth as you're thinking."

"That may be so, but I just need the information to be limited until such a time as I've made a decision." Tasha worked her teeth against the inside of her cheek again and continued, "And thanks for being so reassuring."

"Of course. What do you say you come to lunch with Bruce and I? You need something to take your mind off the immediacy, give yourself a chance to decompress."

"I'd like that."

Pepper padded over to the counter to help herself to a jar of Tootsie Rolls located there when she noticed something interesting. She picked up a clear evidence baggie that contained a lipstick tube. "Where did you get this?"

"It's part of an active investigation from the Vault," Bruce responded. "Why?"

"It's a vintage Lancôme container. You don't see many of them around anymore unless they're a collector of early memorabilia. The case is eighteen carat gold plated, so we're talking top of the line cosmetics from back in the day."

* * *

Next Chapter: Christian rears his ugly head, and Clint becomes Rogue's knight in shining SHIELD gear.

Edit: Thanks to Nyx Wings for pointing out a science mistake so I could correct it. Hopefully it's more correct this go around.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty Seven

Rogue's glance was fixated on the elevator's panel of buttons when the doors opened. Golden buttons and red lights and silver lettering and the rich mahogany and cherry and walnut of the interior wood paneling seemed especially fascinating right now. Another ding was quickly followed by the doors swishing closed again which finally prompted her to swipe her hand between them to reverse their direction, and she stepped off into the lounge.

Murmuring voices hushed upon her arrival, pulling her attention away from the charcoal slate to the men occupying the sofas. Mister Clint and Mister Tony were seated there. Normally, she would have offered a cheery greeting, but the internal struggle to remember herself against the force of Christian's memories and personality seemed impossible to win. She headed toward a pot of coffee percolating in the kitchen.

The two men continued their conversation when Mister Clint said, "So I think you should pay a visit to the Vault. Rogue and me are heading out tomorrow morning to question Miss Steele. You're welcome to tag along."

"Because I'm totally down with interrogation tactics," Mister Tony responded. "You know me; I'm a bamboo-sticks-under-the-fingernails-Chinese-water- torture-nails-on-a-chalkboard kind of guy. But if you ask me, making them listen to seventy-two straight hours of Barney songs would be more effective."

Clint chuckled. "SHIELD doesn't employ torture tactics against prisoners."

"Clearly you missed the whole conversation wherein Director Fury insinuated Thor should torture his own brother to locate the tesseract."

"When did this take place?"

"While Loki was a prisoner aboard the Helicarrier."

"Ah, see. I was busy being Loki's bitch when all that went down."

"You should stop by the Vault, Sugar," Rogue interjected during a moment of silence. She strolled over to join them with a cup of coffee in hand. "The guardsmen unit's using tech noticeably similar to your Iron Man technology."

Tony's expression was inscrutable. "Now that's interesting, because I spent a very uncomfortable day in a Senate arms hearing defending my patent on the Iron Man technology and would have remembered giving the Vault permission to use my designs."

She bristled ever so slightly when his glance dropped south of her chin. God, she felt like wearing a sign around her neck that read _"The face is north of the boobs!"_ And Shadowcat wondered why she spent ten percent of an average week considering a breast reduction surgery. Alas, she was too polite to ream him a new one in front of his teammate over a peek at her tits.

When Clint, who was apparently a rare gentleman, cleared his throat and stared pointedly at the other man, Rogue liked to think it was his way of chastising Tony for getting too personal. Something warm blossomed and turned her insides to mush.

Mister Stark quickly averted his glance and had enough manners to look vaguely ashamed. He changed the subject to safer territory. "So these samples Bruce processed for you. What's going down with those?"

She stared into her coffee while Clint explained the situation, her thoughts becoming so lost in Christian's memories she didn't hear the elevator ding nor someone's footfalls padding in their direction. A hand fell on her shoulder. Startled, she dislodged the intruder's grip and came within an instant of spilling hot coffee all over herself.

"Easy, ma chère," Remy purred. "Ain't no reason to be getting worked up." The Cajun dropped a couple of bags at the end of the sofa. "Mes amis, Gambit sure do appreciate you letting us stay until Chère's feeling better."

"The more the merrier, but you'd better size Rogue up for a chastity belt while Thor's in residence. Fabio has a habit of making women in this tower swoon." Tony responded.

Gambit chuckled. "Thor ain't getting nowhere with my girl. Chère show him the door if he tries getting fresh with a lady."

"And there isn't any reason for Remy to be getting jealous. Thor's a gentleman who knows how to treat a lady, unlike some other people I could name." She reached up to clasp the hand Remy returned to her shoulder.

"So about this serum. Is Xavier aware of its existence?" asked Tony.

"Oui. Doctor Andrews and Doctor Grey been studying samples, and Mister Charles is monitoring the politics behind it. The government ain't got no real good history when it comes to controlling the mutant community."

"Do you have any suspects as to who might be Grey's man on the inside? We bring said suspect in, make him listen to a never-ending stream of Barney music, and Grey's as good as back in custody."

"There's a man called Harold Marcus," Clint responded. "He's one of four commanders at the Vault. We haven't found any real evidence yet that he might be linked to the break out, but his mannerisms were suspicious. His cooperation seemed…"

Tony suddenly interrupted to say, "You should encourage Jean to change her last name, Roguesy. Jean Grey. Christian Grey. A little too close for comfort were I her."

Rogue didn't immediately respond. She needed a second to bite her tongue to avoid the abrasive comment hovering there. Her pause was covered by tugging on Remy's hand to bring him around the sofa where she indicated he should sit between Clint and her. Once Remy was settled, she wrapped her arm around his.

Gambit just beamed.

Finally, she responded to Tony. "Interrupting people when they're trying to talk's rude, Mister Stark. You should be apologizing to Mister Clint. Secondly, I might could mention something to Miss Jean about sharing Christian's last name, but she's the only thing stopping "grey" from being listed in a dictionary of dirty words."

"You're completely right. Mister Clint, would you care to finish your statement?"

Clint's lips tightened a fraction, and he offered Stark a heated glance before continuing, "As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, Marcus' cooperation seemed reluctant. Like he was dragging his feet. Took him too long to assemble a preliminary incident report and list of escapees. Maybe he was buying time for Christian's group to get away."

"I should be coming with you," Remy said. The man snuggled a centimeter closer until their thighs were pressed together.

Their shared body heat was a tad distracting, but Rogue had enough sense to say, "Ain't no reason for you to haul yourself halfway across the country, Sugar. You got that thingamajig tomorrow evening."

"It ain't nothing real important. Mister Charles just wanted me to pick up a few things from the food and wine festival for him."

"No, it's fine. Go and run Mister Charles' errand for him. Mister Clint and Mister Stark'll be with me. We'll interview Miss Steele and be home by tomorrow night."

Charm oozed from Gambit when he twined one of her cinnamon curls around his fingers. "Remy be counting the hours 'til his chère come home. 'Cause when Chère ain't here, the world be getting darker. There ain't no light or joy in Remy's heart without you."

Her cheeks heated under his scrutiny, and she ended up smiling despite the upheaval taking place in her mind. She grinned like a loon and tucked herself a little closer. "Maybe I'll get you a nightlight, Sugar."

"They're more adorable than that puppy in the window with the waggling tail!" Tony exclaimed. "They're so sweet they'll put you into a diabetic coma! You know what's really cute? How Rogue sounds more southern whenever Remy's present."

"Shut up, Tony. Leave them alone," Clint groused.

Rogue turned a heated glance in Stark's direction. The man was too sarcastic for her comfort level. Sometimes people rubbed others the wrong way and an instant disliking was taken for no apparent reason. That wasn't the case with Mister Stark. He was just too crude, obnoxious, and rude for her to be comfortable in his presence.

"Death glare number nine." Tony paused for a few seconds as though a thought had struck him. "Wonder if that's related to love potion number nine? Anyhow, what time are we leaving in the morning? Pepper has a super early meeting. God, I don't miss those days."

Clint smirked and said, "You want to know what else is adorable while we're listing things? The fact that you can't keep track of your own schedule but somehow know when Pepper has early meetings."

Mister Stark offered up a "duh" look. "One has to know when one can sneak in a quickie before work or when one should take care of one's own morning wood."

A faintly disgusted sound expelled from her lungs. "Bless your heart, Stark, but you've got the manners of a near-sighted hog suffering from schizophrenia who's guarding a pack of cross-eyed piglets. You don't talk about morning wood in front of a lady nor bandy around your sex life to your friends about your lady."

There was something distinctly owlish about the way Stark blinked.

Clint snickered.

Remy was caught between disapproving of Stark's comment and mild amusement.

"That was adorable!" Stark finally exclaimed. "No one has ever chastised me like that before. Not even Tasha disparaging my parents as being mutated animals comes close."

"Chère sure she don't want Remy to be going with her? To hand out bits of duct tape for Mister Stark's mouth when he starts getting sarcastic again?"

The offer was sorely tempting, but she shook her head. "No, Sugar. I think I might could be handling Stark on my own."

"Ouch. So in the space of half an hour, I went from Mister Tony to Mister Stark to Stark. That's gotta be some kind of record."

Clearing his throat, Clint tried to assuage the tension when he leaped to his feet and sashayed toward the kitchen for a refill on his coffee. He danced around a pile of torn wrapping paper from yesterday's festivities on his way. "I'll look after her, Gambit. Not that Rogue needs looking after. You should have seen her bringing order back to the prison escapees. You've got to be super proud of how well she can take care of herself."

"Kinda like that redheaded spitfire mon ami's promised to," Remy said. "Gambit, he bump into her last night. Don't be letting that one get away. Mister Clint best be doing right by her and making your claim permanent like."

She was distracted from Remy and Clint's exchange when Stark leaned closer and said, "Hey, I'm sorry if I offended. I do that a lot. Matter of fact, I've got the perpetual taste of sock in my mouth from shoving my foot in it so often."

"Things have just been difficult the last few days, you know, with _him_ running rampant through my psyche."

"Understandable. Wait, if you can read his memories, how come you don't know where he's disappeared to? Shouldn't you be able to find his destination in his memories?"

Crestfallen, she drained the last sip of coffee before responding, "Christian didn't know their ultimate destination. Their escape was planned with a third party, someone who was communicating through emails and written notes. Only thing Christian knew was they was meeting a chopper that would be taking them somewhere safe."

"Typical," Mister Stark hissed under his breath.

Clint, a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of Christmas cookies in the other, suddenly tripped over the boxes and wrapping paper he'd sidestepped earlier. An arm flailed in an attempt to right his balance, but there was no correcting himself. He ended up sucking face with the slate, his fall accompanied by a solid thwack.

"And not a drop spilled. Damn I'm good," he cried.

But Rogue couldn't respond. Blood rushed into her ears, and her vision throbbed. Something warm spread through her loins as her body readied in anticipation, in abject need, for Clint Barton. So profound was her sudden desire to possess every fiber of his being that she could think of nothing but tying him spread-eagle against a cross and delivering sharp, stinging slaps with her naked palm against his naked ass.

_"Take him," Christian purred from behind the partition. "Take what is rightfully yours, Miss Darkholme, and prove your superiority to the world."_

* * *

Concentrating on her surroundings was impossible when said surroundings included Clint Barton and the waves of sexual tension Rogue imagined rolling off him. The fingers of one hand caressed the controls as gently as any lover. His Adam's apple bobbed as he downed several swallows of a can of Red Bull. One leg was braced higher than the other from propping his foot against the side of the interior plane wall.

_"Someone with that much ease and control behind the stick of such a monstrous beast as this jet is begging to be absolved of all control in the bedroom," Christian commented while leaning against the partition in her brain._

_"Shut up,"_ she said to herself.

But she found herself swallowing heavily in an attempt to restore moisture to her parched throat as she imagined sucking beads of wine from Clint's skin. He was an ice-cold can of beer on a hot summer's day. The beads of wine were condensation on the can, and her tongue ached for that cool moisture. God, she needed him on a fundamental level. She needed to control him on a level that bordered a religious epiphany.

_"And he needs you to control him with the same intensity, to give his mind the opportunity to recharge by taking decisions from him and allowing him the freedom to experience the ultimate weightlessness. Take what belongs to you."_

_"God, don't you ever shut up?"_ she shrieked to herself.

_"Tsk, tsk, my dear. Control is key, both control over another person and control over yourself. I will teach you the pinnacle of superiority, and you will own the moon and the stars when we're finished here."_

_"You have real problems, Sweet cheeks. You know that?"_

Why did Christian suffer from such an intense need to be an alpha predator and exist at the absolute top of the food chain? The answer came from his earliest memories, from that day when his mother's pimp had beaten and abused him before killing her. He'd been too young to have any control over the situation. Couple such a traumatic incident with being molested at fifteen and it was a wonder he hadn't turned into a raving psycho. Said molester had indoctrinated him into an abusive BDSM lifestyle by forcing him into a submissive role, which had further eroded his control. The tiniest spark of sympathy ignited in her psyche.

And then Mister Stark cleared his throat. "How's Tasha handling the suspension?"

Something positively aggressive boiled away beneath her skin when she raked her glance toward the billionaire for daring to break the silence. Seconds later, she looked away from him and pinched the bridge of her nose. Refocusing her attention on the passing mountains was difficult, but she could see the Vault just ahead.

"Fine," Clint responded. "She's fine. Everything's fine."

"Well don't let me drag any details out of you or nothing. Wouldn't want to give away too much information. God, you're so wordy sometimes, Barton."

Clint's posture sagged. "Sorry. I'm really starting to worry about her. She was pretty non-communicative last night. Couldn't get her to say more than three words before bed. Either she's becoming dangerously obsessed with this whole Christian Grey fiasco or something extracurricular is going on she's not telling me about."

"And it's unusual for Red to be non-communicative?"

"You don't know her like I do. Tash says a lot without using words if you know how to read her. Lately, she hasn't been saying much of anything."

"And she hasn't been feeling well," Mister Stark added.

"I know," Clint said so softly he was almost unintelligible.

Uncomfortable silence ticked by before Mister Stark finally leaned over to give the other man a solid thwack on the shoulder. "Don't you worry your pretty little head over Natasha Romanoff. Pepper's on the case. My girl said she'd work on your girl while we're gone, and no one can withstand Pepper Potts when she stages an intervention."

_"Why are you not defending your claim, Miss Darkholme? This man is your property, but you allow him to discuss a former lover so freely?"_

Rogue opened her mouth. Something perched on the tip of her tongue, words meant to debase Agent Romanoff and browbeat Clint until he agreed to never speak her name again, but said words were swallowed down at the last second.

_"Coward," Christian hissed._

_"Of course she's a coward. Did you expect differently?" Ms Marvel asked when she padded from the blurry shadows clinging to the edges of Rogue's conscience and crossed her arms over her chest. "This is the same woman who attacked me from behind and used that devilry of hers to absorb me into her conscience. She's the yellowest of all cowards."_

Rogue flinched and tore her glance away from her traveling companions. Deep down, she knew Ms Marvel was right, and that was why she would always be detrimental to team unity. Scott wanted to fast-track her to a command position in the X-Men organization, but she couldn't lead people, not when she couldn't even form a cohesive and coherent thought.

So she focused on watching Clint go through procedure. He hailed the control towers to receive permission to land inside the Vault courtyard. A few switches were flicked to drop their landing gear as the laser grid peeled back to grant them access. His landing was smooth as silk.

Guardsman Marcus was waiting, his faceplate lifted, when their back ramp lowered. Alarm widened his eyes. "Mister Stark, we weren't expecting…"

"I'd say not. You know, considering you're wearing a patent infringement. 'Cause I sure as Hell never signed off on an agreement for the Vault facility to use and abuse my designs. There's this thing called patent laws. I guess you've never heard of them."

Marcus' expression evened. He cleared his throat and said, "Take it up with Warden Jeffries if you must, but our tech was legally commissioned from a French company who specializes in advanced robotics."

"Really, Sticky McFingers? Because I'm totes the only mechanical engineer who's been using an advanced inertial dampening system housed in reinforced panels in the sciatic region. You know, to prevent my organs from being liquefied by impact trauma. Care to let me take a look and determine if said support panels are present in your uniform?"

Marcus took a step backward only for his reaction to calm again when he said, "Look, I pilot the uniform. I don't know how it's created. You have questions about your patent? Take it up with the warden."

"Believe me, I will."

Tension thickened to a maddening point when Marcus swung his gaze away from Mister Stark and immediately focused south of Rogue's chin. For a split second, he looked away, cheeks heating a few degrees, but his glance returned for a second peek. This time, he didn't even bother trying to look ashamed about not being able to keep his eyes to himself.

"Hey, eyes over here, Douchenozzle!" Clint snapped. "Genetics didn't conspire to create her tits for the sole purpose of your viewing pleasure. Having a pair of balls doesn't give you the right to ogle any woman you find attractive."

"S-s-sorry," Marcus stammered. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

Warmth flooded the core of her body when Mister Clint valiantly jumped to her defense, and was she just imagining things when he sidled a little closer, close enough for their shoulders to brush? "Good to know not everything with a penis is totally lacking in manners, Sugar."

He offered up the briefest of nods before continuing, "We're here to interview Anastasia Steele. How about you do your damn job and show us to her cell before being tempted to continue feeding into the rape culture machine?"

"Yes, of course. We received orders from SHIELD indicating your imminent arrival. Miss Steele has already been transferred to an interview room. If you'll follow me."

"And while they're interviewing Dumber regarding her involvement in Dumb's escape, you can have Warden Jeffries clear his schedule until he's met with me," Tony instructed.

* * *

A/N: These chapters keep getting longer and longer, but I have so much plot packed into this story line I can't seem to whittle them down much. Okay, so the whole Rogue thing. Having not been exposed to many of the comics, I'm not sure how they handle the Ms Marvel psyche, but this whole deal where Ms Marvel's persona is inside Rogue's mind stems from an episode of the cartoon called "A Rogue's Tale." I've always been super fascinated by that aspect of her character. I simply expanded it to also include Creepy McStalker.

Next Chapter: Miss Steele slut shames with the best of them and Tony's suspicions grow.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty Eight

The room Guardsman Marcus showed them to was spartan. A metal table was bolted to the floor in a central location. Miss Steele was seated in a chair on one side, and it was impossible not to notice the hefty rings welded to the floor on either side of her chair. Extra precautions were necessary when dealing with superhuman beings, some of whom possessed immeasurable strength. Two other chairs had been placed on the opposite side of said table.

Miss Steele was just as nondescript as Rogue remembered her being. The woman was sans makeup and dressed in a black jumpsuit decorated with an inmate number. Her limp hair was held in a tight ponytail, her thinness the only remarkable quality about her appearance. Ana was so thin she appeared unwell, which only drew attention to her lackluster hair and sallow complexion. Malnourishment was never attractive. Otherwise, there was nothing else about her that could differentiate her from the legions of average women in the world.

_"I always appreciated that about her," Christian said. "Her plainness. One would think a plain woman would focus on enriching her personality, but such was not the case with Miss Steele. She was a blank canvas upon whom I could paint my masterpiece."_

_"You're a sick man,"_ Rogue said to herself.

_"Says the woman who's having conversations with invisible people who exist only in her mind," he retorted._

"Afternoon, Miss Steele," Clint said while taking a seat across from Ana. "Name's Agent Clint Barton from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. We need to ask you some questions about Christian Grey."

"I'm not saying a word without my lawyer present," Ana said.

"Did Grey's estate arrange for you to have a lawyer?" Rogue asked. "Oh, that's right. Because Christian Grey deliberately left you behind in order to make his own escape."

"He didn't!" Ana emphasized. "The situation couldn't be helped."

"Let me draw your attention to Section One Twenty-One C of the Homeland Security Act," Clint began while sliding a manila envelope across the table so she could read the passage herself. "Persons of interest can be questioned outside the framework of their Miranda Rights during matters of public safety. Due to the nature of his mental health, Mister Grey poses a danger to the public."

Ana leaned closer to read the printout and finally slumped in her chair.

"The facts are simple. We're within legal guidelines to question you without your lawyer present regarding his location. Secondly, you can and will be charged for aiding and abetting." He pushed a picture of the lipstick tube across the table. "Guess what has your fingerprints all over it, Miss Steele?"

Fear and uncertainty was in the girl's eyes when she looked up from the picture.

_"She won't tell you anything," Christian said. "Miss Steele would walk through fire to protect me, so you're wasting your time."_

_"Shut up, Charles Manson."_

Ana's expression hardened again seconds later. "I invoke my fifth amendment."

"Come on, Sweet cheeks," Rogue crooned. "Your ex has a history of sexually assaulting and attempting to abduct innocent women. If you're even half a person, you'll tell us where Max was taking him."

"I invoke my fifth amendment."

"He was in the process of raping a woman when myself and my partner arrived. Do you have any idea what that's like?" Clint asked. "He held her facedown on a table, but despite how much she struggled, she couldn't break his hold. He would have raped her if we hadn't gotten there in time to stop him."

_"Miss Potts needed it," Christian quipped. "She was so tightly wound, she needed to be controlled, and I was the only one man enough to give her release."_

_"You shut your damned pie hole, you sick fuck,"_ Rogue hissed to herself.

_"Make me. Oh, that's right. You can't."_

Ana's expression changed rapidly for several heartbeats before solidifying into a look of complete defiance. Finally, she responded, "Christian would never hurt anyone unless it fell within the legal framework of a BDSM contract. Clearly, he was acting within the boundaries of that framework, and she cried rape to hurt him."

"None of them signed a contract with him, and even if they had, those contracts aren't legally binding," Clint said.

"They took advantage of him and are attempting to ruin his reputation. Christian knew this would happen some day if his kinky fuckery ever became public knowledge. He knew people would persecute him for his lifestyle. They used him to get him into trouble."

"Are you serious?" Rogue asked, voice laced with disbelief. "You're blaming an attempted-rape victim for her attacker's actions? Bless your heart, but you're dumber than a two-headed horse with both heads stuck in a barbed wire fence."

A muscle in Clint's jaw ticked dangerously. His knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the table with extreme force. Struggling to gain control his emotions, he finally spoke in an even tone when he said, "Doesn't matter whether you think he's guilty or not. You aren't related to him by blood or marriage, which means you will be charged for obstructing justice. You either tell us what you know about his location, or you'll be spending a lot of time at Rikers in the near future."

Ana shook her head while biting her bottom lip.

_"Told you,"_ Christian said.

"Who gave you the lipstick container to smuggle antidote inside?" Clint asked in a sudden shift of topic.

She shook her head again.

"Sugar," Rogue drawled in her sweetest voice, "he left you there to be taken into custody. Christian lost his grip. You fell down beyond his reach, and instead of taking an extra minute to get you, he abandoned you to take the heat for him."

"None of this is his fault," she finally whispered. "After my incident, Christian was so emotionally unbalanced that he hasn't been operating normally. We meant so much to each other. We were going to be married, and then she happened. This is all my fault, so charge me for these supposed assaults and leave him alone."

"Your incident?" Clint prompted.

She was silent while staring at the backs of her hands for long moments. "An architect, a woman named Gia, was working on plans for our house, but I knew she had terrible intentions for Christian. She was a predator. He said so himself. All I wanted was to protect him, because he can be so vulnerable sometimes."

Ana paused again to pick at a loose thread on the sleeve of her inmate uniform. "There was an attempt on her life. Doctor Flynn and Christian smuggled me away to a resort in Maine where psychologists helped me get a better grasp on reality."

"You tried to kill a woman for making a pass at Christian?" Rogue asked, expression revealing every ounce of stunned disbelief she was feeling.

"She wanted to take him away from me," Ana whispered. "She wanted him for herself. What kind of woman comes into another couple's home to do a job and attempts to seduce a man like that? Christian is mine, and I am his."

_Christian leaned against the partition with a very satisfied grin in place, body language completely causal. "As I said earlier, Miss Steele is my masterpiece. Sadly, she became too possessive for my needs. I wanted a wife who was isolated enough to be completely and utterly devoted to me. I did not want an attack dog who thought she deserved the power to meddle in my other relationships."_

_"You know, I keep saying this, and for every time I say it, it becomes that much more true. You are a sick fuck."_

"But records indicate you've been living in Maine and working as an editor at a regional publishing firm. According to Grey's financials, he's been making regular payments to a university where you're pursuing a graduate degree," Clint said.

"Christian was protecting me."

"You've played so beautifully into his hands, Sweet cheeks," Rogue said with a snort of disbelief. "Can't you see? You came into the picture, and he shuffled Leila out of his life and ultimately off to an asylum without involving the police. Same thing happened with you. He warped you to the point you would kill for him. A new woman threatens your position in his life, so you make an attempt on hers. He shuffles you off to an asylum."

_Christian's stance became far less casual. He pulled himself to attention and struck a fist against the partition preventing him access from controlling her. "Close your mouth, Miss Darkholme. This is no concern of yours."_

"You're lying. He sent Leila to an art school."

"Am I? Search your memories, Anastasia. Why didn't he call the police to deal with Leila? Why'd he involve his psychologist if he was just sending her to art school? He could have told you anything, and you would have believed him. She never went to am art school. She was locked up in an asylum."

"You're lying!" Ana cried, hands hovering near her ears as though to block the sound of Rogue's voice from beating against the walls of emotional imprisonment.

"I'm not, Sugar. Mister Grey's memories are inside my head. When I touch people's skin, I absorb them into my psyche. I absorb their life force. He's in here." She tapped her temple. "I didn't just hurt Mister Grey. I held on long enough I could have killed him."

"He's not dead!" Ana shouted. "He was still alive when Max…" Her comment came to an abrupt halt, and she smoothed her expression. "You're trying to trick me into blurting everything out so you can find him. You want him for yourself. Of course you do. Look at you. Parading around in your skin tight slut clothes just begging for men to look, but Christian didn't fall for it. He likes his women with class and substance."

_Christian chuckled._

_Ms Marvel shook her head in disbelief. "Way to slut shame, Ana. Did you teach her that, Christian, or was it all on her?"_

Stick a fork in her, because Rogue was done. Metal bent beneath her fingers when she clutched the edge of the table with full grip force. "Way to slut shame, Ana. Did Christian teach you that, or is that one personality quirk that's all you?"

"Did I hit a nerve?" Ana asked.

_"Shut your mouth before I make you eat my fist!" cried Ms Marvel._

"You shut your pie hole before I make you eat my fist," Rogue practically squeaked.

"Let's dial it down here!" Clint exclaimed.

Unable to differentiate between her present surroundings and the righteous indignation boiling up inside her as her own anger merged with Ms Marvel's, Rogue barely avoided surging across the table and introducing herself fist to mouth. One second, she was on the verge of losing all sense of self. The next, Clint's hand settled on her shoulder.

_"Do not touch me," Christian gritted out through clenched teeth. "Never touch me."_

"Don't be touching me," she whispered through gritted teeth. "Don't you ever lay hands on me."

"Outside," Clint ordered without even a flicker of emotion registering on his face.

Her body was shaking so badly when she pushed away from the table to follow him that she was practically humming with vibrations. She attempted to reestablish control, but control seemed impossible when trying to differentiate between Carol, Christian and herself. A moment later, her face was buried in her hands, and she released a keening sound.

"I'm sorry, Sugar," she cried softly. "I didn't meant to lose it like that."

"Hey, try to take deep breaths. Concentrate on focusing yourself on the sound of my voice and start relaxing every muscle in your body starting with your feet." As he spoke, the cadence of Clint's voice smoothed into a monotone, the pace slowing until his words were elongated and even.

"I'm scared, Mister Clint," she finally whispered. "What am I going to do if they're part of me forever?" And then the temptation to latch onto him was too great. Rogue pulled him into an embrace until their bodies were flush.

He was stiff at first, but then his posture sagged, and he ended up giving her a firm squeeze. "Everything's going to be okay. Professor Xavier will help you regain control."

"I thought he had. Mister Charles placed psychic blocks inside my head to help me control Ms Marvel, but she might could be getting stronger."

"Can't say I understand what you're going through, but I do know something of what it's like to have your thoughts controlled."

That helped. That helped more than she could ever give voice to knowing someone in the world could commiserate with her situation. There was a kinship between them now. They shared something on a profound level, and uncertainty took a dramatic swing in the opposite direction upon realizing how good his body felt against hers

_"How many times do I have to reinforce this? He belongs to you, Miss Darkholme. Take what you want from him, because the sole purpose of his existence is to please you."_

Her lips were poised inches from his. His breath fanned across her cheek and smelled faintly of Red Bull and Juicy Fruit gum.

_"Possess him."_

_"I'll hurt him."_

_"Own him in a way only you can."_

_Christian delivered a solid blow against the partition that startled her into dipping her head in the direction of Clint's lips. She would take the only thing capable of making her feel in control of her world again._

"Whoa!" Clint threw his hands in the air and jumped backward to put hasty distance between them. "I like you and all, but these lips have 'Property of Natasha Romanoff' stamped on them. Plus, let's just not add Clint Barton to the list of people rolling around your brain."

_"He's yours," Christian growled. "He will succumb to your desires, and it would be best if he did so willingly and with a great deal of enthusiasm."_

"You're mine, Mister Clint. Succumb to our desires willingly and with enthusiasm."

On the list of woggly eyes that had been rated the most woggly, the most confused, Clint Barton's came in at the very top, and then understanding slowly dawned. "I fell in the lounge yesterday while you had coffee with us. Christian was there in some manner of speaking. God, that's just surreal."

* * *

Winston cigarettes, Tony realized when the scent of cigarette smoke tickled his nostrils as he approached the main offices. Obie had preferred cigars, but when he wasn't in the mood for something as heavy as a cigar, he'd been known to smoke a Winston cigarette. Full flavor, of course. Tony coughed and peered down a short hallway with a sign proclaiming "Restrooms" hanging from overhead.

He caught a brief glimpse of a young woman and a guardsman in armor passing a cigarette back and forth after hasty puffs. "McKinley" was emblazoned across the suit's chest piece, but the sound of his cough made the pair realize they'd been caught. McKinley hurriedly crushed the cigarette out against the suit's gauntlet while the young woman rushed toward her desk outside the warden's office.

"Mister Stark!" she said a little too enthusiastically while trying to fix her tousled hair. "Warden Jeffries will see you now. Go on in." Her hand swept to indicate the nearby door.

The walls of Warden Jeffries' office were covered in old movie posters, everything from _Casablanca_ to _The Bride of Frankenstein_. A sweeping glance imbedded them into Tony's hippocampus, because his pre-frontal cortex couldn't always be trusted to retrieve short term memories. The only poster he felt warranted a longer look promoted _Dark Journey_, Victor Saville's spy thriller. The poster was obviously a modern interpretation and showed a mirror reflection of Vivien Leigh putting on lipstick. The film had been one of his mother's favorites.

After that split second of distraction, his glance finally fell on Warden Josiah Jeffries, who was seated behind his desk. Said warden was nothing like Tony's expectations. The man was thin. His hair had turned white with advancing age, but his eyes and expression were still sharp when the man's assistant introduced Tony before retreating from the office.

"Mister Stark, Guardsman Marcus tells me you have questions regarding patent infringement on your technology," Jeffries said from where he sat behind his desk.

"Sure, because I'm about ninety-nine point nine-to-infinity-and-beyond certain you've jacked specs for my Mark Four platform. I'm not quite certain how you got your hands on my specs, but you've got about three minutes to explain that before I call my lawyers."

"Straight to business, then? You wouldn't let me offer you a drink first?" Texas. The man's accent was distinctly Texan, Tony realized. Jeffries got up and splashed Scotch into two tumblers before offering one to Tony.

"Since it's already poured…" He accepted the tumbler and took a swig, but Jeffries' Scotch was only passable at best. Okay, so he was spoiled when it came to his Scotch.

"We commissioned Robert, Telulle, and LeCombre, a French robotics company out of Paris, to design and implement armor for our guards. As you can imagine, our people are on the front lines of controlling some very violent and exceptional inmates. No expense was spared when it came to protecting them on the job."

"And apparently you were willing to steal to accomplish this."

"If our suits-and that is a very big 'if'-infringe upon your patent, you would need to take the issue up with RTL Advanced Robotics. If something underhanded has taken place, they're solely responsible. We will of course cooperate as you investigate the matter to your satisfaction, but let me remind you again the risk our guardsmen take on the job."

"See, I might believe that if it weren't for Marcus overreacting to my unexpected visit. He knew something underhanded had taken place regarding the suits. Same thing happened when Agent Romanoff questioned him about the legality of the design."

"Harold is a sensitive lad. He doesn't respond to veiled accusations well."

"And I don't respond well to people stealing my stuff. You know the irony here? I would have volunteered my consultation services on a pro bono basis if you'd contacted me through appropriate channels, because your guards do deserve to be adequately protected. Stealing from me, however, is just irritating and rude."

Further conversation was interrupted by the assistant's voice emanating from a nearby intercom to inform the warden about an emergency call from Australia waiting on line one. Jeffries excused himself and left his own office to take the call from his assistant's phone. Rather than using the perfectly respectable phone on the desk in front of him. Now that was interesting and caused a dark brow to inch closer to Tony's hairline.

In the meantime, Tony kept busy by googling RTL Advanced Robotics. Turned out they were a real company that really did engage in advanced robotics work, but he totally wasn't buying that the Vault had no hand in stealing his designs. Even if Vault personnel hadn't actively stolen his specs, they had actively known it was going down.

An incoming email distracted him from his search.

_To: IronStark1-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: PPotts-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: Impending Inclement Weather_

_Date: 12/27/12_

_The Weather Channel shows a massive storm heading in your direction. Please, don't try to fly home if you think it's unsafe. We can manage for one night without you. _

_XOXOXO_

* * *

_To: Ppotts-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: IronStark1-at-gmail-dot-com_

_Subject: RE: Impending Inclement Weather_

_Date: 12/27/12_

_Vivien Leigh was hot in Dark Journey._

* * *

_To: IronStark1-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: PPotts-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: Re: Impending Inclement Weather_

_Date: 12/27/12_

_Because the appropriate response to my concern is to tell me another woman is hot. How are things at the Vault? Have you discovered the breach in our security yet?_

* * *

_To: PPotts-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: IronStark1-at-gmail-dot-com_

_Subject: RE: Impending Inclement Weather_

_Date: 12/27/12_

_You can't argue with my logic. She was super hot in that movie. No, Warden Jeffries is on a call. He's trying to make me believe the patent infringement is all on RTL Advanced Robotics._

* * *

_To: IronStark1-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: PPotts-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: Re: Impending Inclement Weather_

_Date: 12/27/12_

_I didn't say you were wrong. Fun fact: Vivien Leigh premiered Lancôme's first line of lipstick in that film. They called it Rose de France. Did you know the lipsticks were scented with Bulgarian rose? Funny you should bring that up. Bruce was fingerprinting one of their lipstick containers just the other day._

_We've worked with RTL on several projects, you know. Have the warden pull invoices for you. The managing director on the project should be listed at the top of the invoice. We can use that name to track the project's progress and perhaps find our leak._

* * *

_To: PPotts-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: IronStark1-at-gmail-dot-com_

_Subject: RE: Impending Inclement Weather_

_Date: 12/27/12_

_That's just super duper fascinating. Could you tell me when the first modern panty hose were premiered? You know, the Nylon kind._

_How come I don't remember working any projects with RTL?_

* * *

_To: IronStark1-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: PPotts-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: Re: Impending Inclement Weather_

_Date: 12/27/12_

_Sure! They premiered in Dead and Deader, starring Antoinette Edwina Stark. In the film, she was brutally murdered by her betrothed for poking fun at her fiancée's interests._

_That's because you have the attention span of a gnat, Honey._

* * *

_To: PPotts-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: IronStark1-at-gmail-dot-com_

_Subject: RE: Impending Inclement Weather_

_Date: 12/27/12_

_Thanks! Now I have evidence of your death threat that can be submitted to the courts._

_True._

* * *

_To: IronStark1-at-gmail-dot-com_

_From: PPotts-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_Subject: Re: Impending Inclement Weather_

_Date: 12/27/12_

_So, I should ask JARVIS to wipe your phone's database. Got it._

* * *

_To: PPotts-at-starkindustries-dot-com_

_From: IronStark1-at-gmail-dot-com_

_Subject: RE: Impending Inclement Weather_

_Date: 12/27/12_

_JARVIS wouldn't dare. Or maybe he would. He has an unhealthy obsession with you._

_Gotta go. Warden's returning from his call. We should totes go to Australia for our honeymoon. IronStark out. _

_XOXOXO_

* * *

A/N: It's odd what kinds of formatting things this site decides to change when I hit save. Anyhow, I hope everyone enjoys it. I did some research into interrogating people without a lawyer present and couldn't find the actual documentation for the Homeland Security Act clause wherein public safety can be invoked, so I just made up the section number.

Next Chapter: Christian is a douche, and Tony wants to put Pepper in a Hell in a Cell cage match with Anastasia.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty Nine

A distant boom from outside was muffled by the mountain insulating the Vault from the storm. Lights in the corridor flickered dangerously before stabilizing again. Rogue peeled herself from the shadows into which she'd ducked to avoid a passing guard and continued her silent progress down the hallway leading deeper into the private guardsman quarters. The air was charged with static. Fine hair along her arms pricked as goosebumps raced up down her skin.

Ms Marvel seemed unsettled tonight. The Kree warrior was poised right there at the edge of the partition, a shoulder leaning up against an invisible wall, legs crossed at the ankles, and pretending fascination with something beneath her nails.

_"Give me control, and I will beat back the battle raging inside your conscience," Carol commented. "I will destroy Christian for you, and we can reestablish the balance together."_

_"You? A woman? Capable of destroying me?" Christian scoffed. "Admit you are more like me than you want to think. Clearly manipulation tactics, Miss Danvers. Lure her into a false sense of camaraderie and then take control of her body."_

_"Both of you shut up,"_ Rogue thought to herself.

_"Just admit you're losing your grip on sanity. That's what all murderers eventually do. They go crazy and kill everyone they care about. You're afraid of that, aren't you," Carol continued._

_"Stop,"_ Rogue thought.

_"Just picture it, Darkholme. That gorgeous Cajun thing you're so taken with? One day, you'll wake up and find you've strangled him in his sleep. It won't take much, not with my strength enhancing you. Yes, strangulation will be your weapon of choice with Gambit. Wouldn't want to disfigure that pretty face of his. You'll wake up one morning and find him in bed next to you, but his lips will be blue and his tongue swollen. You'll play Rorschach ink blots with the ligature marks on his neck."_

_"Stop!"_ she shouted to herself.

_"You are too much, Miss Danvers," interjected Christian. "Playing upon the girl's own sense of guilt as a ploy to manipulate her? She hasn't figured out yet that guilt is what causes all her problems, that if she'd just let go of her guilt, she would win the ultimate battle."_

_"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"_ Rogue knuckled her temples and squeezed her eyes tightly closed to somehow escape the battle going on inside her brain.

_"Shush, Christian. You don't know this girl the way I do. She's a killer to the core. One day, she'll kill again, just like her mother trained her."_

_"Perhaps, but when she does, you'll have to fight me in order to take advantage of the situation. Or we could join forces and overthrow her, lock her away behind this partition to never see an ounce of sunlight nor enjoy the basest pleasures in life."_

_"A coalition against her?" Carol asked. "Are you suggesting we French Revolution her conscience? I like it, Grey. Yes, I like that idea. Soon, though. She's weakening by the hour."_

A high-pitched keening sound escaped her, and she slumped into the nearest wall to press the heels of her palms against her eyes. Surely there was a way to shut them out. There had to be a way to make them stop and finally have silence inside her own head.

Footsteps coming in her direction disrupted the chaotic play of voices, and she hurried down the hall to close the distance between herself and Marcus' quarters. She'd seen him in the community rec room playing poker with some of the other guardsmen. There'd been several cases of beer and piles of change floating around, so she didn't expect him back any time soon.

A few tricks Remy, who was a reformed master thief from the Thieves Guilt, had taught her disengaged the door lock and allowed her to slip into the silent darkness inside the man's quarters. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary upon first glance. Harold could barely call the cleanliness of his quarters up to code. The place was a pig sty, and she nearly sucked face with the floor after sliding on a stack of loose magazines sprawled across the carpet.

The only light came from the red digital display of a clock on an end table, so she felt her way along the wall looking for the bathroom or a lamp to flick on, something to offer enough light to make a sweep of Harold's place looking for clues. Yes, that's what she was here for. The storm had made her restless, so she'd decided to search for something to incriminate Marcus.

_"Or hide from me as usual," Ms Marvel quipped._

She finally located a small adjustable lamp, the kind that clipped onto the edge of a desk. Light flared to life, and Rogue suddenly realized there was a body standing directly to her right. A sharp gasp was her response as said body moved just as the light flicked on, like roaches scattering for cover.

The man's mass hit her square in the chest and propelled her backward against the wall. Sharp pain accompanied the tip of a knife gouging her inner thigh. Clever bastard was lined up with her femoral artery so that the right amount of pressure would sever it. She'd bleed out in a matter of minutes.

And then the tension was gone. "Clint!" she hissed. "Oh my God, Sugar, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Rogue, what the Hell are you doing here?" he breathed. The man stepped back hastily, sheathing the small knife with a quick movement.

_"Looking for you, my pet" Christian commented. "Take what you want from him."_

"Same thing you're here for, most likely," she responded, a slight hitch in her voice.

"Looking for evidence that ties Marcus to the prison break?"

_"Just admit your feelings for him, Miss Darkholme. He belongs to you. Do not suffer his insolence long. There is a fine line between desirable conflict and mutiny. Teach him whose favor he should court."_

"Y-yeah," she stammered. "Yeah, looking for evidence. Find anything?"

"Nope, nothing incriminating, not even email files on his computer to show contact with Miss Steele. Just a stack of nudie magazines under his bed and more collectable sports cards than any one individual should possess."

"Then we're back at square one. Marcus was our only real suspect. Guess we'll need to continue our interrogation of Miss Steele, see if we can get her to crack."

_"Yes, interrogate Miss Steele again. That will be enjoyable," Christian said._

Rogue squeezed her eyes closed again and palmed her forehead.

"Are you okay?" Clint asked.

"Sure, Sugar. Why wouldn't I be?"

_"Because you're a thief, a liar, and a killer masquerading as an X-Men. You aren't worthy of wearing that logo," Carol helpfully supplied._

_"And because the world owes you for your rotten beginning and that rotten mother who didn't protect you. Clint owes you, Miss Darkholme. Give yourself the release you need."_

_"Get outta my head!"_ she shrieked to herself.

"Rogue, you look like you need a doctor. You need to tell me what's wrong. I can't help you unless you tell me what's going on."

Her brain practically throbbed. Shoulders tight, head thrown back, eyes wide, she felt the last thread of control slipping through her fingers and the partition crumbling inside her mind. Vision became blurry when Carol and Christian rushed her en masse.

There was always a tense, breathless moment when a catapult had been armed and was ready to fire. The counterweight was cocked to its highest and the firing arm secured at its lowest and the technician had her hand on the release lever. That silent anticipation was always deafening, the last moment of peace before the chaos of battle. And then the very air would groan when the lever was released before the guttural sound of the counterweight swinging into motion reverberated like ten thousand sighs.

That moment was in the air before Rogue surged into action. She grasped Clint's shoulders, swung him around, and pinned him to the wall. One hand locked around his throat and lifted until his feet were dangling off the floor.

_"You belong to me, and if you will not willingly surrender, I will take what is rightfully mine," Christian said._

"You're mine, Sugar," she breathed, "and if you ain't going surrender, I might could take what's rightfully mine."

Clint couldn't respond. He was too busy scrambling to find traction against the wall with the soles of his boots to prevent immediate strangulation.

_"Your safe word is antidisestablishmentarianism."_

"Your safe word, Sugar, is antidisestablishmentarianism."

* * *

Tony was… To be perfectly honest, he was taken aback by the mousy woman reclining on her bunk. The infamous Anastasia Steele, who had come thisclose to marrying the devil, was nothing like one would expect. She was petite, dark of hair, and unassuming. That wasn't to say she was necessarily unattractive. She was just plain. Plain and serviceable like carbon fibers meshed together to form Kevlar. Not attractive but certainly sturdy enough to get the job done.

"Miss Steele, you have no idea how much of an honor it is to finally meet you in the flesh. I mean, it's not every day you finally make the acquaintance of someone who's whispered about in hushed tones as though invoking the name of the devil."

Miss Steele jumped and sat up so quickly she bumped her head on the unoccupied bunk above her, which resulted in a squeak. "M-mister Stark!" she exclaimed.

"Aw, she knows my name. Friend of mine saw you earlier today and said you were reluctant to answer some of his questions. Short fellow, scruffy looking. Seriously buff arms, though. Guy's got gorgeous arms. Goes by the name of Clint Barton. Heard of him?"

She sagged and then straightened her position to affect more confidence than she really possessed. Leastways, Tony assumed she lacked in confidence with the way her eyes shifted away from his rather than maintaining eye contact.

"Yes," she finally began, "he interrogated me earlier along with some slut who wants to get her hands on my Christian."

A heartbeat of silence passed before Tony snorted. "Oh the irony. I will feed off the irony in that statement for the next five minutes. Great way to slut shame, though."

"Simply calling it like it is, Mister Stark. Anybody who runs around in that getup must have loose morals. And given how attractive Christian is, she clearly wants him."

"So you're one of those types of people, eh? Because it's perfectly cool Christian's tied up dozens of broads, but oh noes! A woman sleeps with more than one man, and society's moral fabric is somehow unraveling."

"Are you gay?" she blurted out.

He blinked rather owlishly and rocked back on his heels, because that was a question he'd never been asked before. Such an inquiry tended to be unnecessary when one had a reputation like he did. "Not that it's any of your business, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Guys who try to act like feminazis fall into two categories. Either they're gay, or they think fighting for women's rights will get them... you know. That thing men and women do."

"Sex?"

"Yes, that." A blush lit up her cheeks.

"Really? You spent three months with Creepy McDouchenozzle and can't even hear the word 'sex' without turning into a lighthouse?"

"Ladies shouldn't say words like that."

"Guess what. I'm marrying the most statuesque lady on the entire planet. She has more lady in her itty bitty ladylike pinkie than you could ever dream of possessing. She's the ladyingest lady who ever ladied. And she can say the word 'sex' with a straight face. She can even say the words 'vagina' and 'penis' and 'cock' without blushing." New game: See how many times he could say a slang term for genitalia before Anastasia Steele had an aneurysm!

A moment of silence passed while Ana shifted around until she was seated on the very edge of her bunk, her hands clasped between her knees and her toes pointed inward. "It doesn't matter! Christian loves me. Even though I'm terribly plain, and I know I won't be able to hold his attention for any length of time."

It was like in Charlie Brown cartoons where all adults spoke in gibberish. Ana opened her mouth, and all he heard was "Christian wahwahwahherpityderp." The little twerp seized upon every opportunity to talk about Christian "McCreeper" Grey. He pressed his fingertips to his temples in an effort to stave off a pounding headache.

"Sandy Claws, if I promise to be an uber-special-awesomely-behaved boy for all of twenty-thirteen, will you promise to give me an extra special present next Christmas? Five minutes. Hell in the Cell. Pepper and Anastasia locked inside."

"What are you going on about, Mister Stark?"

"Nothing, nothing at all." Half a heartbeat passed. "Oh, and if it isn't too much trouble, Sandy Claws, can I have Red added to the list of occupants in Hell in a Cell?"

By that point, Ana's expression became super confused.

He suddenly turned serious, an intense look carving his features as he leaned closer to the laser grid blocking off Ana's cell. "Because I guarantee you if you spent five minutes alone with Pepper and Tasha, you wouldn't come out alive. I super-duper-double-dog-dare you to spout that shit in front of my girls."

"I'm simply calling it like…"

"Finish that sentence, and Christian will receive ten lashings when we find him."

Ana's teeth audibly clicked together when she snapped her mouth closed.

"God, the two of you freaking deserve each other. There for a minute, I almost felt sorry for you. Your fiancé ships you off to a psych ward. Then he lures you into helping him escape from prison. Then he leaves your ass there to be captured. You're like two peas in a rotten, diseased, fungus-ridden pod."

"He didn't leave me," she whispered.

"Really? Looks that way from where I'm sitting. Rogue's mission report was very thorough. Dude dropped you and ordered Max to leave you there so they could escape."

"No, he didn't!" she shouted.

"Yes, he did."

Ana was clearly becoming emotional. A few tears slipped down her cheeks, and she dashed them away with the tips of her fingers. "It's just like in Dark Journey when Madeleine is arrested by the Swiss…" She stopped abruptly.

"What did you say?"

"N-nothing," she stammered. "It's nothing."

Tony's eyes suddenly widened when he made the connection. Dragging out his cell phone, he shot off a text to everyone on his Avengers list. _"BDSM-Boy's in Australia. Warden Jeffries is our inside man."_

Not more than a second later, the overhead lights suddenly shut off. The only light came from the glow of the laser grids and his phone's screen, which was now showing no signal. There was no way to be certain whether or not his text had gotten out before losing signal.

Heavy footfalls headed in his direction, and three guardsmen in their walking patent infringements rounded the corner into his line of sight. "Guys, what's up with the lights? We're underground. It's not like lightning struck and damaged the power grid."

"Maintenance said a couple of generators have unexpectedly gone down," one man responded. "Most of our security is still functional, but we're waiting on a report from each ward. Warden Jeffries said we should bring you in for your own safety. If you'll come with us, we'll make sure you're under armed guard for the duration of the event."

"Sure. I can take a look at those generators if you'd like." But something akin to dread made Tony's stomach feel heavy and unsettled. Had the warden been watching? There were cameras everywhere. Had he been watching him type his text?

* * *

Next Chapter: Natasha has a revelation, and Tony is finally thrown in prison. Also, you'll get the third intermission. Christian Grey Vs. Clint Barton


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

"Kostya," Tasha exclaimed. Her rapid series of kicks and punches against a punching bag in the Avengers Tower gym came to a screeching halt at the revelation.

"Pardon?" Jenny, who was busy putting herself through her paces on the elliptical, asked.

"Nothing."

But Tasha didn't immediately continue torturing the punching bag. Instead, she pressed a towel against her face to mop up sweat plastering tousled red curls against heated skin. A bottle of water was retrieved from the mini-fridge just as a soft humming from the elliptical assured her Jenny was back to exercising rather than pressing for conversation.

Kostya Petenka. That name finally emerged from the fuzzy depths, coughed up from the darkness of repressed memories her current pregnancy was finally bringing to light. How terrible was it she couldn't remember his face? Vague recollections of blonde hair didn't prompt the regurgitation of a full image.

Cool water eased her parched throat, and after a few swallows, she returned to the bag. Several solid blows made said bag sway. Then she gathered enough momentum to walk herself into a back handspring and toe-kick her imaginary opponent. Had her opponent been human, the toe of her boot would have caught him or her under the chin and snapped the head back, causing irreparable damage to the spinal column and cord.

She'd nicknamed him "Kossy." They'd been young during their brief romance; her barely sixteen and him just beginning a career in the Red Army. She could remember having loved him as much as her sixteen year old self could love. The emotions certainly hadn't been Justin Bieber lyrics, though. Sixteen year olds in Russia had been making adult decisions for years, so she'd loved him with more intensity and sincerity than modern teenagers.

He'd been killed in action months before Rose's birth, she realized.

Part of her, a very sick and diseased part, was suddenly glad Rose had been a stillborn birth. Just beginning her career in the Widow program before the bio-technical enhancements had been administered, there was no way she could have provided stability or any kind of future for an infant. How would she have provided for Rose's needs? How would she have kept Rose out of the hands of the Black Widow program?

That thought made her pause again, and she pressed a taped hand against her mouth when a sudden flood of memories broke free, memories of her escape from the Black Widow training camp. Running; desperately. Slick mud hindering her movements. Falling. Knees and hands scraped up by gravel. Clawing her way back to her feet and fleeing again while looking over her shoulder. Hunting dogs baying in the darkness. Running. Desperate. Afraid. Bare feet bloody from gravel; cold from the Siberian permafrost; gouged by branches and rocks littering the forest floor. Lights in the darkness. Dancing lanterns following her as she pressed herself into an impossibly small hole of a hollowed-out tree.

_"Romanova!"_

_"Show yourself, Romanova!"_

"Romanoff!" Jenny shouted.

Tasha jumped and suddenly found her fist caught in the vice-like grip of a green fist, stopped inches away from landing a blow against Jenny's throat.

Gasps dragged into her lungs, and she sagged. "Jenny! God, Jenny, I'm sorry."

"S'okay, but you look like you need a doctor."

"No, I'm fine," she responded. "Just bad memories."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"God no!"

"You okay now?"

"Yeah."

Just like that, Jenny released her fist, and Tasha made a hasty retreat into the locker room where she stripped from her track pants and tank top, quickly unwinding the tape from her hands and wrists before stepping into the sauna.

Her breathing eventually evened while the heat baked her skin and the humidity caused her hair to curl outrageously. The Widow program would have taken her child had they known she was pregnant. Her handlers would have twisted Rose into their image, and there would have been nothing Tasha could have done to prevent her child's indoctrination into their organization.

She brushed sweat from her cheeks. No, not sweat, she realized; tears.

Rose would have been trained as a killer for Mother Russia, a perfect replication of her mother. When the time came for Tasha to defect to the United States, what were the odds Rose would have agreed to go with her? Tony could have regurgitated the statistics, something along the same lines as lighting striking the same place twice.

Something washed over Tasha, and the turmoil quieted.

Was that what peace felt like?

Her child had been spared from becoming a mindless killer bent only on pleasing the needs of Mother Russia. She had been spared the machinations of the state manipulating her life for the benefit of a communist regime. Weight and accusation suddenly lifted from Natasha's shoulders. Silent guilt pointing fingers back in her direction for having done something to cause the stillbirth quieted.

Peace.

She was smiling, she realized. There was a smile on her face when her hand slipped down to settle against her taut stomach. In that quiet, unassuming moment, she made her decision. Barton Spawn deserved all the good things Rose had been denied by fate and circumstance. She would do everything in her power to ensure this child lived to take his or her first breath and be given the opportunity to make a life free of torment and suffering.

Suddenly, time seemed to rocket into overdrive, and Tasha couldn't move quickly enough to catch up with the weeks she'd already lost. Her sweaty exercise clothes were closest upon emerging from the sauna, so she snatched them up and bounced from foot to foot while dragging the pants on. The tank top was still being tugged over her head as she burst from the locker room, leaving a confused Jenny in her wake.

"Is it an emergency?" Jenny called after her.

"No, I have to see your cousin!" she shouted over her shoulder.

Tony wasn't in residence presently, so Bruce was easily located inside his private lab. There was so much lab space in the tower, every member of Team Science could have their own personal space. And yet Bruce and Tony still ended up together nine times out of ten. Tash secretly found it adorable.

Automatic doors swished open upon her approach, and she dashed inside to find Bruce leaning over a microscope. "I need you to look into methods for temporarily shutting down my Black Widow enhancements. Can you do that for me?"

Without dragging his eyes away from the microscope, he waved a specimen slide around in the air before responding, "Ten steps ahead of you, Agent Romanoff. But a sample of your blood would be super helpful. I was working on a personal project when it hit me suddenly. The serum from the Vault was designed to target specific markers in the body. If I can tweak it to target your enhancements, we can use it as a base formula."

"How did you…"

He interrupted, "Ever seen the second_ Tremors_ movie?"

"I've never even seen the first _Tremors_ movie."

"Cute movies. You should watch them sometime," Bruce said. "Anyhow, Burt Gummer said regarding his tendency for being over-prepared 'When you need it but don't have it, you sing a different tune.' Figured something like this would come in handy someday."

Tasha wasn't a touchy-feely person, but this called for an exception. She dashed over and hugged the man, practically draping herself over his back since she couldn't reach his front due to the lab table he was sitting behind.

"Oof," he grunted and then awkwardly reached over his shoulder to pat her head.

In the silence that followed, both their phones chimed the iconic _Star Wars_ theme linked to their Avengers personas. Were it just Tony texting, the incoming message could be ignored. Receiving a message to their Avengers channel meant they could know in an instant the communication was important. Bruce was the one who'd suggested they all set the _Star Wars_ theme as their Avengers ringtone. What could be more epic than that?

She dragged her phone from the pocket of her track pants. Tony's message settled like a dead weight in the pit of her stomach, and she glanced toward Bruce to meet his concerned gaze.

"Their situation just became more perilous," she pointed out.

"Agreed. A facility like that was designed to cut people off from the rest of the world. If the warden decides our people should never see the light of day again, there will be precious few options to change his mind."

The automatic doors swished open behind her.

"Can anyone fly in this weather?" she asked, so focused on the best way to help their stranded teammates that she wasn't immediately concerned with whomever had entered.

"The Blackbird can, mes amis."

Gambit's thick Cajun was unmistakable, so she turned to bring him into focus. "Have you received any communication from Rogue?"

"No, and Gambit becoming powerful worried. Rogue ain't been acting like herself since dat bastard hurt her. Ain't never seen her struggle like this before. She say Christian's memories be strong enough inside her head dat she might could have killed him."

"English, Gambit," she requested.

"He hasn't heard from Rogue and is worried about her mental health," Bruce translated. "Apparently, she believes the contact between Christian and herself was so prolonged that death could have been the result, which means his persona might become a permanent fixture inside her mind the same way Ms Marvel's is."

Tasha glanced over at Bruce with a raised brow.

"I lived in India. When you're used to hearing an India-heavy accent applied to English, Cajun is a breeze," he said as if the answer should have been obvious.

"As if we could be so lucky to finally have Christian Grey off the face of the planet. So you're saying our team members are trapped inside an underground, maximum security prison with a crazed warden and Christian Grey hopped up on Rogue's super powers?" Tasha asked.

"Oui and Chère, she say something funny before leaving. She say Mister Clint be belonging to her like she owned him outright."

Color drained from her face when she connected the dots. Last night, Clint had made an off-hand comment about pulling a swan dive that would have made her ballerina alter ego proud. At the time, she'd been so emotional from having her pregnancy confirmed that she hadn't paid much attention. Now, she understood the implications.

"Clint fell in front of her," she said. When the news didn't produce the appropriate reaction, she expanded her comment. "Rogue is hopped up on Christian Grey's mental ticks, and Clint fell in front of her."

Bruce was silent for half-a-heartbeat while the information sank in. "Balls."

Two glances jerked in Bruce's direction. A red brow ticked higher in surprise.

"Can you think of a more appropriate sentiment?" he asked.

"No, you win. Gambit, get on the phone and see if we can borrow the Blackbird. We'll beat-feet to Colorado and lend them a hand."

"Oui. Mister Charles, he let Gambit borrow the jet to save Rogue."

"_We_ aren't doing anything, Agent Romanoff," Bruce said with appropriate emphasis. "Certain members of 'we' are presently on medical suspension and will be remaining here."

"I'm not staying here while our team members are in…"

"Members of 'we' presently on medical suspension are staying behind so a certain director of SHIELD doesn't force all of us to sit through a three hour long seminar wherein we translate the definition of 'medical suspension' into all the world's languages."

"But Bruce…"

"No arguments. We can simply ask our team leader for his directive wherein I will be forced to break doctor patient privilege for the sake of your mental and physical health. Because certain conditions are delicate and should not be aggravated when a number of alternatives are available for deployment."

Her expression pinched, eyes narrowing as she bored a glance into him. "You're evil, Bruce Banner."

The man flinched slightly. "Won't be the first time anyone's accused me of that."

"That's not what I meant!" she cried, suddenly appalled with herself and her choice of words. "Bruce, that's not what I meant."

"Jenny will go with us, Gambit, and Agent Romanoff will protect the fort."

* * *

Taking in his surroundings, Tony followed Warden Jeffries and his stolen-suit-wearing-muscle through a heavy iron door and into Cellblock C. A long metal platform ran in a straight line from one end of the cellblock to another. Between the walkway and the actual cells there existed a ten foot gap from which he could hear the dull hum of electricity. He presumed the sound was produced by some sort of electrical security deterrent that would make the inmates think twice about attempting to leap from their cells onto the pathway

McKinley flicked a switch on the small platform at the head of the cellblock, and sections of grating extended outward toward the cells themselves to allow safe passage. Another flick of a button labeled Cell C8 turned off the laser beams wrapping around iron bars.

Only then, did the warden continue down to the cell where he pressed a button on another security panel which caused a latch to spring free and allowed the door to be opened.

"For your own safety," Warden Jeffries drawled in his thick Texan accent while sweeping a hand toward the empty cell. "Some of our security protocols have been compromised thanks to the generator malfunction, so it's possible a few of our lesser criminals might break out of their cells. This is the best way to protect you from them."

Tony glanced back and forth between Jeffries and the sparse cell. It was an industrial nightmare, all cold metal and concrete and a silver toilet and sink combination that offered zero privacy for the bladder-challenged. Smooth spots had been worn into the floor from numerous feet that had paced the small confines.

"Of course. Couldn't have that, could we," he said. "How long do you think before you have power restored? I promised to call my fiancée before midnight."

"It's impossible to say, really. These things could take days, but that's what happens when government funding doesn't allow us the appropriate equipment. Perhaps if you'll give me your fiancée's contact information, I can personally send a message explaining the delay."

Right, he believed that the way he believed Captain Calisthenics still needed his virginity, but the problem was, Tony wasn't positive Jeffries knew about his text. There was every real possibility the warden was still in the dark about Tony's existence inside the realm of "in the know," so he had to play ball for the time being rather than giving it away.

Finally, he stepped across the threshold. "No thanks. I'm sure she'll understand when I get in touch with her in the morning. Any word on Agent Barton's location?"

"Our guards have yet to make contact with Agent Barton or Rogue. All this will blow over by the morning, though. We'll restore power, and you'll be on your merry way in no time."

Then why did the creak of the door being closed followed by the click of the lock being engaged seem so much like a finality? A shudder raced up his spine.

Warden Jeffries and McKinley retreated from the grating extension and made their way back to the main security panel where they retracted the catwalks. The warden whispered something inaudible to his hired goon before they started toward the door.

"Hey!" Tony shouted as though something had just dawned on him. "Since I'm a VIP and the Avengers would be lost without me, you need to station one of your guardsmen here. I mean, what good is this cell if someone gets out and has their way with that security panel? Not going to be much protection in that event."

The warden paused and finally nodded. "Guardsman McKinley, if you would be so kind as to keep an eye on Mister Stark?"

"Yes, Sir," McKinley responded.

Tony's mind was already scrambling to formulate some sort of escape attempt when the warden retreated back through the main cellblock door. Occupants of the other cells were restless by the sounds of things, and something charged the atmosphere with tension.

"Override protocol Virginia Three Thong Seven Nine Potts," he said.

"Pardon?" McKinley asked from where he'd positioned himself on the main security platform. No response was forthcoming from McKinley's suit, though.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

Clearly, they'd been smart enough to create their own operating system, one that didn't share any common files with Jarvis, who had access to all Stark suits. That was fine. If he could get McKinley to move within touching distance, close enough he could reach the suit through the laser bars, he'd be back in business. An idea popped into his head.

"You got a cigarette?" he asked. "I'm dying for a smoke."

McKinley turned in his direction and responded, "No smoking in the facility."

"Yeah, sure. Because you're such a stickler for the rules. Look, it's just a cigarette, and who's around to tattle on us? Certainly not me."

McKinley was silent for so long Tony figured his ploy hadn't worked, but then the guardsman reached up to engage the extending platforms and clomped in his direction. The faceplate of the man's armor lifted, and a small compartment on the suit's thigh flicked outward to reveal a crumpled soft pack of Winston cigarettes.

"Light me one up too while you're at it while I collapse a gauntlet."

"Sure thing," Tony practically purred while he happily reached through the laser-wrapped bars for the manual eject built into the suit's hip joint.

* * *

Next Chapter: Intermission III Christian Grey Vs. Clint Barton


	41. Intermission: Christian Vs Clint Barton

Intermission:

Christian Grey Vs. Clint Barton

Chapter Forty One

Clint's breaths were shallow enough as to be inaudible. He pressed himself into the shadows, beads of sweat gathering on the ridge of his brow and dripping uncomfortably into his eye, but he didn't dare reach up to wipe the moisture away. Hot steam made the air heavy with water vapors and caused breathing to be difficult.

Metal grating creaked under his assailant's footfalls, the sound inching too close for comfort and alerting him to the fact his hiding spot would momentarily be compromised. He suddenly bailed. Grates rattled loudly beneath his feet as he dashed down the length of the catwalk, dove over the railing at the end, and twisted in midair to catch hold of the bottom where he dropped from the catwalk to the boiler room floor.

Landing from a ten foot fall jarred every damned joint in his body, so when he hit, his legs crumpled and spilled him onto the damp concrete. Stars swam behind his eyes. Lungs refused to drag oxygen into his body. He was frozen for precious seconds before being able to lunge back to his feet and steak toward the closer of two doors. His pursuer was seconds faster.

Rogue landed in front of him to effectively block his means of escape.

Clint launched himself into a backward handspring to get out of her immediate reach. Like a rat in a maze, he said to himself. Another handspring was squeezed out of his abused muscles, and he twisted in midair again to reroute his escape plan. Her footfalls didn't immediately take up pursuit, and he was just fast enough to slip through the second door into the lowest cellblock where the likes of Yeti and Abomination were housed behind numerous layers of security. A series of bars and laser grids and mounted guns armed with tranquilizer darts kept them contained.

A howl from Abomination was nearly deafening when Clint raced past, but the automatic doors at the end of the cellblock failed to open upon his approach. Precious seconds were wasted while he jerked at the manual override. The hairs on his arms stood on end, because between Abomination and Yeti screeching and banging against the interior walls of their cells, he still couldn't hear Rogue's pursuit.

Gloved hands suddenly clasped him about the neck from behind. There was a sickening sensation upon realizing just how strong she was when she lifted him from a standing position and flung him like a rag doll. Impacting against a three foot section of stone between the two containment cells jarred his entire body. His sudden proximity to death caused his bowels to threaten immediate evacuation. Had her trajectory been off by more than a couple of degrees, he would have been flung into a laser grid.

"Why are you running from me, Mister Barton? Are you trying to escape?" she purred in a voice like dark-chocolate-and-caramel-and-raspberry-and-milk- chocolate-mousse-and-key-lime-pie-and-rainbow-sher bet-and-gravy-and-buffalo-chicken-wing-and-hot-sau ce-and-jalapeno-and-salsa-and-taco-and-mango-and-t equilla-and-pistachio-and-pineapple-upside-down-ca ke-and-peanut-butter-fudge-and-salt-and-vinegar-po tato-chips.

"This isn't you talking," he groaned.

The reason for her earlier silence became obvious when she lifted from her feet and glided in his direction. Silly him for assuming the halls were too narrow for sustained flight.

"Maybe it is, Sugar," she said. "Maybe I'm right better this way. Maybe this is the real me. Maybe I like knowing what I want and not being too afraid to take it?"

He moved suddenly in an attempt to spin away from her grasp only to be caught by her fingers digging into his hair. He was yanked backward and slammed against solid stone, eliciting another pained groan. Within a few seconds, his arms were wrenched behind his back and clamped in the vice that was her grip, their bodies flush against one another. Her breasts pillowed against his chest.

Realizing too late just how much force she could generate caused another sickening sensation that only increased when Abomination sidled as close as he could possibly get to the iron bars separating him from the laser grid and freedom. The heat of the beast's breath stirred the fine hairs of Clint's sideburns.

"This isn't you," he reiterated.

"Do you remember your safe word, Sugar?"

"Yeah. My safe word is Christian-Grey-is-a-lily-livered-piece-of-monkey-s hit."

"That's not a word, Silly. That's an entire phrase. How're you going to remember something like that when you're bent over my knees with my palm turning your bare ass red?"

"Hyphens, Creepy McAbuser," he quipped. "They can make anything into one word."

Real pain accompanied her fingers clenching on his jaw. Just a bit more pressure and she probably would have fractured his bones or dislocated his joints, but she employed her grip, instead, to turn his face toward Abomination's cell. The beast had somehow worked its fingers through the crack between bars, laser grid, and stone so that Clint could feel those fingertips trying to rasp against his skin.

"Let's try again. Your safe word is…"

"I know what my damned safe word is, but that won't stop you from doing whatever you're going to do. Heeding a safe word requires someone who actually cares about their partner's safety. I'm ninety-nine percent sure you'd bitch at me for safe wording."

"Certainly," she drawled. "Because people who love each other the way we do don't need safe words."

He felt vibrations through his back when the two prisoners started beating on the internal walls of their cells again. God, this was not going on his Fantasy Reel, like, ever. He wouldn't mind dabbling in some bondage with Tasha, but this was not his idea of a good time.

"Rogue, you've got to fight him," he breathed. "You can fight him."

"Let's not become focused on what I can and can't do, Sugar, when it's so much more entertaining to see how much you can take. Can you take whatever I give you?"

His teeth ached from clenching them when Rogue edged him closer to Abomination's searching fingers, which were digging at the stone in an attempt to get just a little more traction to close the gap between them. Dirt, grime, and unnamable filth were buried under the creature's nails. Right before his eyes, one of the nails split all the way down to the quick against the stone, but the creature didn't so much as hiss in discomfort so focused was its attention.

"Are you afraid?" she asked.

"No," he ground out.

"Be afraid, Sugar, so I can smell your fear."

Another centimeter closer and he felt his flesh give when a ragged fingernail raked across his cheekbone. The resulting hot sting melded into true pain when blood welled and began beading in the groove left behind. Abomination released a terrible grunting sound that wafted rotten breath right in his face. Fear? Yes, there was fear. But the greatest sensation was nausea.

His belt buckle opened with a few insistent tugs from her nimble fingers, but then a miracle happened. The heavy door he'd attempted to open moments ago creaked and then swung inward. Two guardsmen stood there. Their presence startled Rogue enough to ease her grip, which allowed Clint to drop his legs out from under him so that he sagged beneath her reach.

Rolling put distance between them, but rather than running toward the guards, he reversed and dashed down the length of the aisle toward the door leading back into the boiler room. Knowing what he now knew about Warden Jeffries thanks to Tony's brief text, he realized being taken into custody was the absolute worst mistake. Better to retreat for the time being.

* * *

Next Chapter: Never leave a nerd in a dangerous situation. They will always find a way to win. Plus the Avengers arrive on scene.


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